To Be God Touched
by Celestra
Summary: Hoping to better understand dragons, Hiccup is accompanied by Toothless on a quest seeking the wisdom of the gods. His venture may be ill-timed, however, what with tension growing in Berk and whispers in Fire Nest Island... [Post-film with minor references to the show] A story about friendship and the forces that test it.
1. Swimming In Mud

8

**To Be God-Touched**

By Celestra (El S)

July 2012

**Author's Notes:** It has been a very long time since I have written any fanfiction. What I ought to be doing is revising and updating the stories I've already started. What I'm doing instead is How To Train Your Dragon fanfiction, because something about that movie inspires me in so many ways. My body can hardly contain all the feels it gives me, honestly.

And so for the first time in years, I'm sitting down and gathering all my thoughts and ideas for something and writing about it. There are other thoughts and ideas I've had for this film that I would have liked to write about as well, but there are several talented and insightful authors on this site who not only had the same ideas but also expressed them better than I ever could. In any case, certain nuggets of a plotline were niggling around my head, so I finally resolved to work them out and make something of it. I've only been kind of gradually immersing myself into this fandom, and though I have a list of stories I intend to read, I haven't actually read that much thus far. Therefore, any similarities between other fanfics is purely coincidental and entirely unintentional.

Something else to note: this story is drawn entirely from the film version of How To Train Your Dragon, as I have not read any of the books. If there are any errors in information that has been confirmed by the filmmakers or that conflicts with the books, I do apologize - it was probably inadvertent. Furthermore, I have exercised some minor creative license in certain mythological elements used in this story, and I hope this is not too problematic. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy.

**Chapter One**

Swimming in Mud

"Okay, let's try this set of words again," Hiccup announced, attempting to keep frustration from creeping into his voice. His hand skittered over a messy pile of loose-leaf parchment and leather-bound notebooks, finally selecting a torn sheet covered in assorted sketches of fish and other maritime objects.

He and Toothless were currently settled in the cove where they had first encountered one another. Even though Toothless more or less had free reign throughout the village of Berk ever since the battle with the Red Death six months ago, Hiccup always felt that the little sheltered glen was a sanctuary of sorts and often returned there when he felt in particular need of privacy. Many of his most cherished memories had occurred there, and luckily it had remained both peaceful and secluded.

Presently, the teenage Viking was sitting cross-legged across from the Night Fury, his prosthetic leg detached and leaning against a nearby boulder. The stack of parchment and notebooks was spread out between the two of them. Toothless had assumed a sphinx-like position, though his lazily blinking eyes betrayed any alertness intended by his pose. Hiccup could tell Toothless was starting to feel sleepy in the warmth of the late afternoon sunlight. Though he would have liked nothing more than to stretch out beside the dragon and watch the dust motes waft between golden shafts of light and dappled shadows until his eyelids fluttered shut, he was determined to try and get through this last bit of vocabulary for the day.

"Fish," Hiccup said, enunciating clearly as he gestured to a slightly smudged line drawing of an Icelandic cod. "Fish." He glanced encouragingly at Toothless. The black dragon's huge jade eyes fixed upon the drawing, and he made the warbling noise that Hiccup understood as the draconic equivalent to the Norse word for fish. Toothless then proceeded to emit a series of sounds, punctuating them distinctly in order to prevent them from running together. Hiccup furrowed his brow for a moment as he tried to recall the exact nuances that composed the quaver of the fish-sound.

"The sixth one... wait, no, the seventh." Hiccup glanced eagerly at Toothless for confirmation, only to see the Night Fury shake his head slightly in the way that meant he had been close. Hiccup frowned; he should have stayed with his gut instinct about the sixth intonation.

"Okay buddy, say it again for me," Hiccup asked, leaning forward raptly in order to better hear the subtle notes of the warble. Toothless obliged before repeating another cacophony of punctuated noises, this time in a different order.

"The third," Hiccup said confidently. Toothless rewarded him with his trademarked toothless grin.

They repeated the exercise several times until Hiccup felt sure that he could recognize the fish-sound anywhere. Toothless was much quicker about recognizing the sounds of Norse words and associating them with Hiccup's lexicon of images; Hiccup suspected it was because human vocal cords were far simpler and afforded a less subtle range of sound compared to the anatomy of dragon throats. Or perhaps Toothless was merely more intuitive about these things than Hiccup was. Hiccup had a feeling it was a combination of both.

After a few more sea-related words, Hiccup was ready to call it quits for the day. He knew from experience that trying to teach or learn too many words or concepts at once would simply overwhelm the both of them and cause them to forget. Learning a new dialect of Norse from differing tribes could be a slow enough process, but trying to overcome an inter-species language barrier was downright arduous.

It wasn't that Toothless was incapable of sophisticated thought, Hiccup mused. Quite the opposite, in fact. Over the time Hiccup had gotten to know the dragon, it became increasingly obvious that he was highly intelligent - more so than certain villagers he could care to mention. Playful and bestial by turns, but not dumb. It made Hiccup wonder whether Toothless was especially precocious or whether all dragons were sentient. In any case, Hiccup felt it wasn't a lack of acumen that prevented spoken communication between them, but one of anatomy, and to some extent, language. He wasn't completely sure whether all species of dragons communicated with the same sorts of sounds and to what extent they compared to human language, but despite these obstacles, Hiccup was steadfast in his desire to learn how to converse properly with his dragon companion.

Where once Hiccup might have thought Toothless was his only friend, he had since felt that Toothless was - at the least - incontrovertibly his _best_ friend. Back when he was widely regarded as the village pariah, his secret relationship with the Night Fury was rewarding if only because he was the only creature who didn't flinch at his approach, stare at him disappointedly, or mock his shortcomings mercilessly. The grudging tolerance of Hiccup's presence in the cove had grown to a covert, forbidden friendship, finally evolving into something almost symbiotic as one could not fly without the other. Certainly none of his relationships with other people made him feel as comfortable or accepted as when Toothless shared food out of his own mouth or allowed Hiccup to clamber onto his back to partake in an exhilarating flight.

Only kisses from Astrid could inspire the same invigorating swooping sensation elicited by flight in his stomach. _Ugh_, _Astrid..._ The lithe blonde shield maiden was someone he preferred not to think about just now.

Even though on the whole his relations with other people had improved after the battle with the Red Death, what with half the village regarding him as a hero, Hiccup still felt rather isolated. Some villagers inflated him to hero status and were more inclined to treat him as a legend than someone of flesh and blood, while other villagers still seemed to only just stop short of treating him like some sort of calamitous leper. It seemed cruel to Hiccup that he could converse so easily with people he did not care to speak with while he had to struggle to glean the meanings behind Toothless' crooning and mannerisms.

Thankfully, Gobber treated Hiccup much as he always had, and the burly blacksmith had made him feel less awkward than most. Perhaps it was because Gobber was his father's best friend, but the mustachioed Viking had always been patient and relatively understanding with him. After his leg had been maimed, Hiccup had been confined to bed rest for just over a month. Gobber had been there every day of his convalescence, commiserating about their shared injuries, preparing him for how to cope with the new life his wound had spawned, and tweaking designs for Hiccup's new artificial leg.

On the other hand, most of his fellow trainees fell into the status inflation camp. Tuffnut had taken it upon himself to act as Hiccup's agent, as it were, attempting to "schedule his meetings with the public." These meetings usually involved Tuffnut gathering groups of the younger, more nubile female villagers, allowing them to bask in Hiccup's presence for a few glorious minutes, and then spiriting them away with hurried comments that Hiccup-is-busy-but-hey-I-can-keep-you-company-for-a-bit. Snotlout occasionally joined him on these ventures, and to hear him tell it, he had personally defeated the Red Death, twice, with his face, and Hiccup had just turned up to help.

Ruffnut enjoyed giving the village children tours of Hiccup's home, usually without permission, and often interrupted his work with Gobber at the forge, frequently at the peril of the children - Oggfrid the Shipwright's seven year-old son had almost lost an eye one time. Noticing him drawing one day, Ruffnut had asked him to design a tattoo of a Zippleback twining around her lower back and thighs, and Hiccup still wasn't sure how serious she was. In contrast, Hiccup had always more or less gotten along with Fishlegs, and the large blonde Viking was far less manic in his behaviour. That being said, he did have a habit of turning up and hijacking all conversations to be about dragon-training, usually comparing his methods with Meatlug to those of Hiccup and Toothless.

Even though Stoick had unearthed a new-found respect for his son and was learning to accept the person he was instead of lamenting the one he was not, Hiccup still felt somewhat uneasy talking to his father. Despite his exterior, he somehow got the sense that the huge Viking was fragile - a huge paradigm of their world had shifted thanks to him, and though six months had passed, he wasn't sure how well that had digested or whether their tentative truce could bear the weight of anything more profound than generic conversations about the weather. Not that they didn't love each other, but somehow Hiccup found it more daunting trying to converse with his father than with a dragon.

As for Astrid, well, Astrid was just complicated. Hiccup didn't know what to make of her at the moment.

And so, hungering for contact that didn't emotionally drain him or put him on his guard, Hiccup had attempted to devise a way for he and Toothless to communicate more efficiently. He had immediately dismissed the idea of trying to teach Toothless how to speak Norse as his vocal cords were clearly not suited to human speech, but he thought it might be possible to break down the dragon's sound patterns and motions into understandable chunks. In turn, Hiccup thought Toothless was more than capable of recognizing the sound of Norse words and comprehending their meanings by association. For this purpose, Hiccup had created lexicon of sorts by drawing hundreds of images crammed onto pages and notebooks, usually grouped by category or arranged together thematically to explain more complicated concepts. Toothless would recognize the image and make his draconic translation, and Hiccup would do the same with Norse.

However, it was an imperfect system. For one thing, it didn't allow for grammar or tenses of time, and Hiccup was fairly sure they wouldn't be able to put together proper sentences for months or even years to come. While it allowed more for the basic communication of words, verbs, or concepts, the going was slow. Moreover, they were still very dependant on Hiccup's pictographic lexicon. Without it they often forgot words, and Hiccup found himself adding to it constantly as it occurred to him that abstract concepts or phrases that were commonplace to him needed to be deconstructed into tangible images for the Night Fury's benefit. He wondered whether Toothless had this problem as well, whether there was some sort of dragon culture that he was incapable of transmitting to his human.

At first Hiccup had actually tried to replicate the sounds Toothless was making in an effort to emulate Dragon Speech, but it soon became painfully clear that his simple human vocal cords did not have enough flexibility for such noises. Furthermore, some of Toothless' growls were beyond the range of his hearing, or they sounded too similar to the limited scope of his unpractised human ears. When the sounds for different words or concepts sounded too analogous to Hiccup, Toothless would try to match them to a small motion or gesture in order to help him differentiate between them.

All in all, the most they could hope for was to grasp enough of the other's language to make suitable responses, though mutual comprehension was better than none at all. The process was positively ponderous, though. To Hiccup, who was impatient and bursting to talk, really _talk_ to his best friend, it was like swimming in mud: he was moving, yes, but so disproportionately sluggishly relative to his efforts that he may as well be wallowing for all the momentum he was achieving.

Hiccup blinked, noticing that Toothless had taken his lapse in concentration as an excuse to take a nap. In the time Hiccup had sat pondering his linguistic woes, the cove had started to take on the reddish-gold quality of early evening light. Hiccup fumbled with the parchment and notebooks, gathering them into a neat sheaf and tying them with a piece of twine before wrapping them in oiled sheepskin leather and tucking the package into the deep pocket of his fur vest. He started to stand up and promptly fell over, forgetting that his prosthetic leg was still leaning against the boulder. Toothless' eyes flashed open with concern at Hiccup's cry of surprise. He shimmied over to the boy, crooning softly as he nudged him gently in an effort to sit him back upright.

To his great consternation, Hiccup found himself blinking back a couple of tears. Not because he was hurt, but because for a brief time he had forgotten that he was life-alteringly disfigured; his crash to the ground was a crash back to reality as much as anything else. Six months passing had not yet fully acclimatized him to the absence of his limb, and even before his leg had been mangled, he had always felt clumsy and awkward. His fingers were dexterous, but everything else about his body had felt distinctively graceless. He had always kind of assumed that when he grew into manhood it would all even out, but with the lifeless piece of metal and leather strapped to his leg, he felt more ungainly than ever before, and didn't see how things could improve. These days, the only time he felt remotely graceful was when he was flying with Toothless. Cutting swathes through the sky with synergetic nimbleness, they had come a long way since their trial flights - the dragon felt more like part of his body than his leg did.

_'Stop that, Vikings don't cry,'_ Hiccup told himself sternly. He was gratified when his tear ducts mostly listened. Toothless crooned again, alarmed by Hiccup's distress.

"I'm okay, bud," Hiccup smiled wetly, scratching the Night Fury under his chin. "Just an off moment." Toothless thrummed with pleasure at the touches and was reduced to a quivering mass of scales, limbs, and wings once Hiccup reached the sensitive spot in the hollow of his jaw. Hiccup watched, amused at the image of the ferocious Night Fury that had terrified his nightmares as a child squirming like an overexcited puppy in the grass.

"Ah, how things change," the Viking sighed, fidgeting with the straps on his ersatz leg as he pulled it into place, the boiled leather at its head cradling his stump. Even though less than a year had passed since he befriended Toothless and learned that dragons were not the malicious beasts legend and tradition had implied, it felt like decades to Hiccup.

_'If only all of Berk felt the same,'_ Hiccup's thought continued, unspoken. While many of the younger villagers were keen on imitating Hiccup's precedent and training dragons of their own, by and large, dragons in Berk were tolerated more than they were welcomed. Berk's older inhabitants had spent their whole lives fighting dragons and found it difficult to switch off the impulse to kill them on sight. Those who had lost relatives to dragon claws or fires during raids were especially intractable about accepting dragons into village life. And though Hiccup's exposure of the Red Death's utilization of them as drones for food delivery may have softened some people's opinions that dragons were bloodthirsty agents of destruction, even villagers who had been impressed at Toothless' performance against the giant primordial beast maintained the opinion that dragons were dangerous, even if domesticated.

Hiccup could see this conflict embodied in his father. As chief, Stoick had come under pressure by two factions of villagers: those who continued to see dragons as a potential threat and preferred that they be driven from the area, and the admittedly smaller group that wanted to incorporate them into village life. It was difficult for Stoick to pick sides as he himself wasn't sure how he felt. His wife, Hiccup's mother, had died during a dragon raid. Valhallarama had been pregnant but had begun to lose the baby during the attack. In all the chaos of the panicked night raid, the midwife had not been able to get to her in time and she had hemorrhaged out. Hiccup knew that Stoick had always thought if not for that raid, the miscarriage would never have happened, or at the very least the midwife would have been able to save her. And yet a dragon had saved the life of his only son, at its own peril. In an ideal world, Hiccup knew Stoick would make an exception for the Night Fury and let the other dragons fight their way to Helheim. And yet, Stoick had seen how bonding with a dragon had saved his son's life. Could he really write off the other dragons when a similar kinship might end up being beneficial to other Berk inhabitants?

So while Stoick allowed Toothless free reign around their village and even let him roost in their own house whenever he wanted, Hiccup knew his father was uncomfortable with the presence of other dragons on the island, especially the feral ones that had taken up residence on the island without attaching themselves to any particular Viking.

With his artificial leg firmly attached, Hiccup moved to rise. Panting slightly after his scratching ecstasy, Toothless slid his head under Hiccup's arm to help support him. Hiccup smiled down at the dragon before scrambling onto his back and hitching his leg into the saddle's locking mechanism in one swift, practised motion. The sun was still a far cry from setting by the time they made it back into the village proper.

"Hiccup! Hey, Hiccup!"

Hiccup turned his head at the cry as he dismounted carefully, making sure his metal leg didn't get caught on any of the saddle's trappings. He caught sight of Fishlegs huffing from his run over. The large Viking had clearly been in his father's bakery until recently as he was coated in a fine sheen of flour.

"There you are," Fishlegs wheezed. Little clouds of flour swirled off him at the movement.

"Actually, I just got here, I was out with Toothless. What's going on?"

"I've been looking all over for you, I've been wanting to ask you how you handled flatulence with Toothless."

Hiccup paused as Fishlegs' words sank in. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it's just that Meatlug does this thing where when she eats too much fish, she gets gassy," the bulkier boy explained plaintively.

"Okay, that's gross, but I don't see why you're telling me this," Hiccup said with a touch of exasperation.

"Normally I don't care much, but the last time it happened she was inside the house, and a candle was lit. She actually made the bedspread catch fire! Not by breathing fire, I mean, but when the gas reached the flame-"

"Yes, I see where you're going," Hiccup interrupted quickly.

"I never knew that that kind of dragon gas was so flammable. So I wanted to know how you handled that with Toothless," Fishlegs pressed on. "I mean, he nests at your house all the time and your house has never caught fire."

The dragon in question was sitting quietly near Hiccup, swishing his tail back and forth. Hiccup frowned, absent-mindedly rubbing the Night Fury's head as he recollected his experiences in dragon behaviour.

"Toothless has never really had that problem," Hiccup said slowly. "Might be that it's specifically a Gronkle quirk... He does do this thing where he sheds scales sometimes, and I found out you can use them as a kind of flint, but I guess that's not really helpful..."

Fishlegs sighed. "Oh well, I thought I'd ask anyways. I wish there was a Dragon Manual that actually taught us how to take care of them, and not, you know, kill them." Fishlegs' voice dropped to a whisper for the last part of his comment as though he was afraid he would offend Toothless.

"Sorry I couldn't help more, Fishlegs," apologized Hiccup. At his words, Toothless perked up for a moment. Looking back and forth between Hiccup and Fishlegs, the Night Fury made an inquisitive warble. After a beat, comprehension dawned on Hiccup's face.

"Yes! It's actually working! You remembered!" The auburn-haired Viking did a sort of victory jig in the village square, ignoring the other villagers who were giving him odd looks as they shambled to their homes or to the Great Hall for supper.

"He remembered the word 'fish' in Norse," Hiccup gave out as way of explanation as he noticed Fishlegs' quizzically raised eyebrow. Seeing that this clarification was insufficient, he expounded.

"Toothless and I have been working on learning how to communicate with each other." Hiccup dug the lexicon out of his vest pocket to show Fishlegs. "We use these pictures: I give him the Norse word for whatever the picture is, and he makes a noise for the dragon equivalent. We were working on sea words today, and when I said your name, he recognized the fish sound!"

Fishlegs stared at the smaller Viking, dumbfounded. "I didn't know dragons could speak," he mumbled. "I kind of thought they were like, winged horses. That breathe fire."

"To be honest, I'm not completely sure whether it's all dragons, or just Toothless, or what," Hiccup said. "But I have a feeling that most dragons are smarter than we give them credit for. I mean, even Meatlug, don't you ever feel like she understands your body language and your tone of voice even better than other animals? Maybe they can't speak Norse, but we always see them chittering to each other as though they understand one another."

Fishlegs glanced at Toothless warily, as though suddenly nervous that the Night Fury was eavesdropping on them. Toothless stared back as though aware of the blonde Viking's thoughts and determined to make him as uncomfortable as possible. Shaking his head, Fishlegs turned back to Hiccup.

"Do you think it's possible for me and Meatlug to do that? Learn to talk to each other?"

"It could be," Hiccup nodded, though his brows were furrowed. "It's been really slow going for us so far, though. I'm sure it can be done, but it's going to take a really long time. And it's hard starting from scratch and going piecemeal about it. We have so many expressions that are difficult to break down into pictures that we never even think about. And it's probably just as frustrating for him - I'm sure there are lots of things about dragons that he could tell me if he had a way of getting me to understand. We are pretty limited by the fact that all our word associations come from me, but there are things in his mind that I would never even know about to ask for a translation."

"That sounds really complicated," Fishlegs commented sympathetically. "It's too bad you can't be like Odin and just hang yourself from Yggdrasil to get all the knowledge you're missing. Not that I want you to hang yourself or anything."

"Thanks," Hiccup said wryly. "I suppose you're right though, the gods wouldn't have any trouble talking to dragons. Too bad they're all up at Asgard, probably laughing at us."

"Probably," Fishlegs nodded, inspecting Hiccup's lexicon. "You probably don't want to lend this out, eh? I guess if I want to try your way I'll have to make my own." The bulky blonde handed the package back to Hiccup with a sigh.

Hiccup shuffled the sheets, tucking the loose ones into the notebooks. Before he could re-tie the twine, however, something heavy slammed into him, sending the extensive vocabulary lists tumbling onto the ground and knocking the breath out of Hiccup.

"THOR'S BEARD, HICCUP!" the large Viking roared as a half-skinned deer carcass spattered in the mud, narrowly missing squashing the notebook dedicated to terminology to do with home and family. "Can't you control that beast?"

Hiccup looked to Toothless, who despite looking fierce owing to the mistreatment of his human was sitting perfectly still, and back to the beefy Viking on the ground. With the carcass out of his arms, he could recognize Holmgeirr's incensed face.

"Your beastie tried to snatch my kill!" Holmgeirr growled, smoothing drying bloody smears out of his bushy dark brown beard.

Since he was ninety-seven percent sure the dragon hadn't budged, Hiccup knew it was pointless to try and explain that Toothless preferred fish over venison. In any case, Holmgeirr had never liked him, and liked dragons even less. Holmgeirr the Broad was a first cousin to Stoick; Stoick and Spitelout's mother had been the older sister of Holmgeirr's mother. Given that he was distantly in the line of succession for the chiefdom, Holmgeirr had never disguised his ire at Hiccup's failings, though he was only marginally more polite to Snotlout. While he was an accomplished warrior, his rude disposition and inability to focus on day-to-day village problems assured Hiccup that even if his whole immediate family were wiped out, Holmgeirr could never gain popular support from the rest of Berk.

Unlike his older cousin, Holmgeirr did not even pretend to muster respect for the Night Fury. Holmgeirr had had to rebuild his house six consecutive times, four of them having burned from Night Fury shots. Even worse, his son had died during Dragon Training roughly five years ago, when the aggressive boy had poked a sleeping Nadder in the eye on a dare. Not even Gudrunir the Village Elder's special salve for burns could do much for him in the end. And so Hiccup could understand the older man's umbrage, even if he wished he didn't take it out on Toothless.

"Uh, sorry Holmgeirr. I'll be sure to keep him away from your kills," Hiccup muttered, trying to avoid meeting Holmgeirr's eyes. Holmgeirr had what his father sometimes called 'Berserker Eyes,' and Hiccup was never quite sure what might set him off.

"Best be doin' that, boy," Holmgeirr squinted at Hiccup for a moment before hauling his deer seemingly effortlessly over his shoulder. Toothless hissed as the broad-shouldered Viking stalked off; Hiccup wasn't sure if it was the dragon equivalent for "donkey" or just a generic sound of displeasure.

The encounter over, Hiccup dropped to his knees and started re-collecting his lexicon; Fishlegs had already crouched down and begun gathering the parchment, possibly in an effort to avoid Holmgeirr's attention. Holmgeirr had a tendency to complain about the quality of his father's bread and frequently referred to Fishlegs as Jotunloaf. Fishlegs, sensitive about his weight and determined to turn it all to muscle, did not appreciate being called a bread giant. Once everything was assembled, mercifully mud-free, Hiccup encased his pictographic glossary once more into the oiled sheepskin.

"All right Fishlegs, I've got to go. If Dad hasn't started on dinner, I'll have to grab some stew from the Great Hall. See you later!"

"Bye, Hiccup," Fishlegs said morosely. Hiccup couldn't tell if his mood had soured because of Holmgeirr or because of the revelation of what he was trying to do with Toothless, but he was sure the bulky blonde would cheer up shortly.

"Let's go, Toothless," Hiccup said unnecessarily, as the dusky dragon was already trotting alongside him in the direction of their home. "To food!"

* * *

The wind was picking up as the Gronckle wove around the rocky pillars jutting from the iron sea, its tiny wings pumping furiously. Below him, great waves were starting to churn, breaking against the jagged miniature islands in great bursts of foam. Above him, the sky looked hard as flint, except in the areas softened by curling tendrils of mist.

It had been a while since he had returned to Fire Nest Island. Before, when Plague Breath was living in the bowels of the volcano, every time he flew too far or hadn't visited in too long, a siren voice would call inside his head, urging and enchanting until he could stand it no more and returned with appropriate tribute.

Now, though, because Plague Breath was dead, he took a certain delight in stopping at the island merely because he was no longer compelled to. As he approached it, he could see even at a distance the great corpse of the primordial dragon rotting on the beach. The stench was horrendous, as was the sight of great strips of flesh sloughing off the bleached bones of its skeleton. Further back, the Gronckle could see where the pink twolegs had broken open the wall of the mountain, the great yawning opening strewn with gravel and debris like the remains of a smashed melon.

The Gronckle flitted towards the broken volcano, giving Plague Breath's corpse a wide berth. Even in death, it still seemed evil and powerfully magnetic. Landing on a ridge towards the top, he surveyed the mountain's innards. He detected a faint red glow and could still feel heat radiating from it; obviously lava pools were still active deep within its roots.

Out of curiosity, he flew deeper into the volcano. Ah, yes. Plague Breath's clutch of eggs was still there.


	2. Courtships and Codices

**To Be God-Touched**

By Celestra (El S)

July 2012

**Author's Notes:** I know there was a lot of exposition and showing-not-telling in the last chapter to set the scene - though there are still elements to help set the stage, hopefully it will pick up a bit more in this one. Hope you're enjoying so far.

A word about the myths included in this chapter: like all mythologies, there are variations, and I have chosen those that suit the purpose of this story. To those who find this problematic: sorry, I'm not a scholar in Viking Scandinavia, so I hope you can bear with me.

Thank you so much to those who have reviewed so far! Your feedback is much appreciated.

**Chapter Two**

Courtships and Codices

Astrid Hofferson woke the moment the dawn sunlight raked her eyelids. Not with a jolt nor with a start; she merely opened her eyes and forced herself to alertness, automatically assessing her surroundings the way her father had taught her to do anytime she found herself surfacing from unconsciousness. Astrid's room faced east, and the aspiring shield maiden had purposely positioned her bed so that the sun's light illuminated it within moments of ascending in order to ensure a prompt awakening. Astrid liked to rise with the sun and begin her training early in the day. In the frosty winter months when daylight was scarce, she wanted to make sure she utilized every available moment of light. When it was relatively warmer and the days were longer, Astrid enjoyed watching the mist burn off the water in golden tendrils before starting her day.

Today, however, the would-be warrior did not stir from her bed furs. Astrid stared up at the crossbeams of her ceiling, contemplating whether she ought to sleep for another hour or so. She sighed, knowing her body was far too accustomed to an early solar schedule to adjust itself now. She was stuck staying up.

Normally, the teenage Viking commenced her day with some stretches and a brief jog around the village to warm up. Although there were other early risers, Astrid preferred to begin her workout in solitude. Just because she woke early did not mean she was a morning person, and she tended to be crotchety and short-tempered until after she broke her fast with a chunk of black bread. Once she got her blood pumping, she would select a weapon with which to practise her maneuvers. Sometimes she used a short-sword and occasionally she drilled with a half-sized war hammer, but typically she favoured her battle-axe.

Unlike some of her peers, Astrid did not neglect defensive stratagems, sometimes spending more time ducking and tumbling and strengthening her shield arm than everything else put together. Once in a while, Astrid would spar with Ruffnut since the other girl had a good eye for when Astrid's movements were getting sloppy, but these informal sessions were infrequent as the lanky girl was lazy about getting up punctually.

Only after cooling off and honing whichever weapons she had been using back into their previously pristine states would she allow herself to break her fast more thoroughly. By that time the rest of the village was usually long awake and bustling.

Of course, that was back when she had something to train for.

Following the incident with the Red Death on Fire Nest Island - Astrid had to grin at Berk's flair for the dramatic in retroactively applying those names - the girl had continued to rise early and drill out of habit. At first it had not occurred to her that her incentive for training had become somewhat defunct. But with Hiccup's revelation about dragons and the demonstration of his familiarity and kinship with a maimed Night Fury, Berk's historic clash with dragons was at a temporary standstill. Existing in an uneasy truce, feral dragons on the island were not quite domesticated, but no longer were they killed on sight, either. And of course, some people had adopted them into their households. For a girl who had been taught since she could toddle how to annihilate the winged reptiles in a variety of creative ways, the loss of an ancestral foe to fight was tantamount to being shorn of identity. If there was no one to fight, why bother with such stringent discipline?

Of course, in a village as precariously located as Berk, there were always plenty of tasks required to maintain the village's economy that could keep one occupied to the point of constant exhaustion. But aside from that, Astrid didn't know what to do with herself. The glory of Valhalla called to her; she had heard the song of steel and felt it reverberate in her blood. After tasting that, how could she possibly return to the life of a mere villager or enter some sort of practical apprenticeship? By the gods, she was meant for something more than that!

Astrid noticed she had clenched her fists into angry balls. She breathed deeply to calm herself. A cramped hand was no good to hold a sword or axe, she reminded herself. _'Not that I have anyone to fight.'_

The blonde sat up, huddling with her sleeping furs around her white shoulders as sunlight inched its way across her room. Sometimes Astrid found herself unaccountably furious with Hiccup for causing these vexing sensations of useless frustration. If not for him, she could have gone on happily hating dragons in peace. Yet just as often she found herself flustered in his presence, unsure of how to thank him for the wonderful gift of Stormfly. She knew her swinging moods were perplexing to the slender auburn-haired Viking, and though sometimes she felt a tad guilty, she also felt strangely vindicated.

_ 'It's only fair that he feels wrong-footed sometimes. The rest of us feel that way _all the time _because of what he's done.'_ She immediately felt a twinge of shame for her uncharitable thought, though it passed. _'Well, it's true.'_

Perhaps her feelings would have been less muddled if not for Stormfly. She had taken to the azure and gold-flecked Deadly Nadder with startling alacrity. Astrid had never much considered herself the affectionate type, but sometimes she almost felt like she could understand Hiccup's strange initial attraction to the Night Fury, or like she could forget the years of Viking-Dragon enmity. Granted, none of her immediate family had died directly from dragon attacks, but something about the Nadder's eyes pulled her in. She had always expected dragons to have the same dull eyes as livestock, but upon seeing the Nadder close up, Astrid could see that Stormfly's amber eyes were lively and bright, often giving her the unsettling impression that she was looking at a scaly person.

Since losing her motivation to train, riding the skies with Stormfly seemed to be the only way she could resume a sense of accomplishment. She still felt that she was lacking in purpose, but slicing through the clouds in a way few could say they had imbued her with the same titillation of elitism she always associated with performing an exercise flawlessly or demonstrating superior prowess against others. While she would sometimes mockingly tell people she couldn't help being the best, the truth was that she could; she worked hard at it. That manic energy had to be re-directed elsewhere now that she wasn't sure to what use her fighting skills could be put, and taming the sky seemed as good a goal as any. She was determined to match Hiccup and Toothless' dexterity, though admittedly those two seemed to have a link that transcended her comprehension.

Nonetheless, she was fond of the sprightly Nadder. She never ceased to find her brightly coloured scales dazzling, and the dragon's pleasant chittering at Astrid's approach always cheered her. After working for years to prove that she could be a formidable enough warrior to be accepted into Dragon Training, there was something comforting about being around a creature that made no demands on her. It was a relief to let her guard down and not have to impress anyone. Astrid knew that Stoick was especially careful about female warriors since his wife had died, even though her death had not occurred directly by fighting. Since that point, Astrid knew that she and other potential shield maidens were under constant scrutiny. One wrong move, one perceived weakness, and she would be back to being an everyday citizen, lucky if she could marry a warrior with half as much drive as herself.

Astrid supposed she ought to be thankful that Hiccup's discovery had allowed for this kind of liberation, jumbled as her feelings were.

Feeling nettled that she had woken early only for her thoughts to chase themselves around in such aggravating circles, Astrid decided she needed to clear her head. Furrowing her brow and wondering how best to accomplish such a feat, her icy blue eyes lighted on her window. Outside, she could hear the faint rustling sounds of Stormfly adjusting her folded wings, and Astrid was suddenly hit with an overwhelming urge to take to the skies with her dragon. Before, she had always watched the sunlight eat through the morning mists from the harbour. What would it be like to take to Stormfly's back and ride the wind at this time of day? She could slash through that golden brume and learn what it felt like as it broke against her cheeks. She could bathe in incandescent dew every morning, if she wanted.

Animated by this thought, Astrid bounded from her bed, the blankets snaking off her frame and puddling in a heap on the floor. Dressing quickly, Astrid bolted outside, taking care not to make too much noise in case her parents were still abed. With hunters' steps, she made her way to the the wooden roofed pen her father had constructed at her urging. He had grumbled about the point of holding a dragon in a wooden building, but Astrid insisted it was not to function as a prison but as a structure to protect against inclement weather - a sort of draconic stable. Frankly, Astrid had been surprised that he acceded. Perhaps seeing that his daughter was steadfast in her desire to tame a dragon he had decided that building the shack to house it was preferable to actually having it inside their home.

As light as Astrid's footsteps were, Stormfly must have heard her coming. Though she was still within the roofed pen and could not yet see her, Astrid could hear the dragon trilling at her approach.

"Hey there, girl," Astrid cooed in a voice typically reserved for little girls ogling over newborn puppies rather than seasoned fighters addressing potentially murderous reptiles. "Did you have a good sleep? Huh, girl? Who's ready to stretch their wings! You are! Yes you are!"

For a moment, it looked like the Deadly Nadder was rolling her eyes, but she rumbled contentedly and followed Astrid out of the pen, cricking her neck and stretching her wings with a _whoosh_. Astrid entered the holding pen for a moment to fetch the leather saddle stowed within. She had commissioned it from Hiccup, though it was less elaborate than his own since Stormfly's tail was intact and needed no additional controls.

As she attached the saddle carefully behind the Nadder's wing joints, Astrid noticed how the dragon's eyes were trained on the stylized Timberjack carved over the roof of their home. The blonde felt a momentary pang of awkward discomfort as she tried to ascertain whether Stormfly was admiring the design or whether the Nadder was aware that the Timberjack's likeness over the lintel signified that the warrior living within was particularly adept at killing members of that species.

Deciding to move away from the carving as quickly as possible, Astrid started to lead Stormfly around the side of the house before she stopped, convinced she heard her name said aloud. Glancing around, the blonde could see that no one was about. Pausing, she became aware that quiet murmurings were coming from the window on the other side of the house where her parents slept.

Normally Astrid was not one for eavesdropping as village gossip was rarely all that interesting; life on an island led to more embellishment than actual scandal. She was about to step away before she heard her mother's voice more clearly.

"And Stoick said he's interested in the proposal?"

"Yes, he thinks Hiccup will be more than willing."

"...Pusguts, don't you think she's a bit young? Shouldn't we wait until her moon blood is more regular?"

"The lass is nigh on sixteen, Ingeborg. Relax, Stoick and I still have a lot to discuss. And even if they were betrothed tomorrow, they wouldn't have to get married for a while yet, especially now that dynamics in Berk are...different."

Astrid backed away from the house, eyes wide. '_Betrothed?!'_

Her parents must have had heard her exit the house and assumed she had gone off to train as usual. Obviously they assumed she was not within earshot, or there was no way they'd be having this conversation.

Astrid's shoulders tensed. Stormfly pawed at the ground nearby, but Astrid ignored her for the moment, deep in contemplation. It was not that she was opposed to marriage, per se. Being raised on an island with a relatively high mortality rate, she had always known she would be expected to get married and replenish the population by breeding good, strong children. She was expecting that. She didn't know if she was ready for that _now_, however. She was just coming into herself - did they really expect her to shackle herself to some man already? Moreover, she was less than thrilled that her father had already begun negotiations without consulting her.

Even though her father Pusguts was a prominent warrior in Stoick's inner circle and her mother Ingeborg had been a famous shield maiden, Astrid knew she ought to feel honoured that the chief himself was considering her for his son. But his son was also Hiccup, and that was complicated. Until six months ago, a thousand chiefs could not have persuaded her to give a boy like Hiccup the time of day. How could she possibly have married someone over whom she was physically superior in every way? She could best him in every way that counted in the Viking lifestyle: sword fights, wrestling, archery, eating, drinking. By Sif's Golden Hair, she could even _belch_ better than him!

Of course, since then Hiccup had proved himself to be much more than a weakling. Although she had been frustrated by his sudden successes in Dragon Training, even Astrid had to admit that some of his non-violent techniques had been downright impressive. The very fact that he had managed to down a Night Fury and observe its mannerisms up close day after day without being mauled or roasted had demonstrated he was made of stronger stuff than she suspected. Even she didn't know if she would have had the nerve to approach an injured Night Fury; everyone knew that dragons had to be killed cleanly because they were at their most dangerous when they were hurt or frightened. More than one Viking had been finished off by a frenetic half-crazed attack after advancing on a botched kill too quickly.

And she certainly knew she could never have _flown_ on a dragon before Hiccup took her on that first flight. Hiccup clearly had a very different kind of bravery than the kind Astrid was accustomed to seeing. Vikings were all about loud charges and contests of strength; Hiccup's courage was quiet and inconspicuous. The steel in his voice when he vowed to rescue Toothless and the masterful way he was able to fly had affirmed that, not to mention his almost solitary altercation against the Red Death. Astrid could still recall the horrifying clenching feeling in her gut the first time she had laid eyes on that behemoth - she felt like someone had flipped over a stone and revealed something slimy and primordial, but unlike a bug that she could crush, this beast was several hundred feet of scales and teeth. The fact that Hiccup had faced that monster alone but for his Night Fury, that he had led it away from the beached tribe members at his own risk, had forced Astrid to look at him with fresh eyes.

There were other qualities Astrid had come to admire about Hiccup as well. His patience, his ingenuity, even his wry sense of humour were all traits that seemed increasingly attractive.

But was that enough to _marry_ him? Just because Hiccup had shown Berk he wasn't an utter failure at life didn't necessarily make him Viking enough for her, did it? Astrid expected the best from herself, and she expected no less from anyone who expected to be part of her life. Maybe Hiccup wasn't weak, but she needed a partnership with someone who was evenly matched to her in all things, or better. The idea of finally being dominated by someone who could be her equal was slightly exciting to her, but the thought of Hiccup ever trying to subdue her, even in jest, made her laugh.

If only Hiccup could court her properly so she could get a better sense of their compatibility as a couple. Most of the time, Viking marriages on continental Scandinavia were conducted as legal contracts to bind different powerful families or even enemy tribes in blood unions. Accordingly, Vikings did not bother with courtships as romance was considered secondary to the alliance, and there was always time for love to come to the couple later. In fact, sometimes flirtations could call the reputation of the maiden into question and spoil all chances of good relations. Even something as innocuous as love poetry could give the impression of a man having unseemly knowledge of his lover's body and result in her family members killing him to protect her honour.

Of course, smaller island settlements like Berk could not afford to kill all their men in silly love squabbles, not when dragons were a constant threat and liable to pick off an errant lover just by chance. And with no nearby enemy tribes or blood feuds that needed uniting, forming "suitable" alliances was far less important than finding a congenial mate amongst the existing population. Subsequently, Berk was a bit more lenient regarding courtships.

Astrid frowned as she started to lead Stormfly to the docks. She wondered why Hiccup hadn't tried courting her. He seemed like the kind of boy who would try to woo a girl and give her flowers and tell her that eyes were stunning pools of beautiful beauty, or something lamely equivalent. For all she knew his leather notebooks could be full of half-finished poems. Of course, it was also possible that Stoick had not yet told him anything about a betrothal that was still only in the early stages of possibility.

While their encounters since the Red Death confrontation had ranged from warmly amiable to coolly awkward, they still talked on a regular basis. Though Astrid sometimes got exasperated with him when he didn't measure up to other Viking paragons, she was fairly sure she had given no indication of permanent disinterest. She liked him well enough and showed him affection when she thought it was due, but that did not make them soul-mates. She knew he was fond of her, but she did not know if he was serious or if it was the passing fancy of a teenage boy without enough exposure to other girls. And if he could alter historic paradigms of dragon interactions, he could certainly change his mind about a girl, especially now that Berk's younger female inhabitants were showing him a lot more attention.

So, where did that leave her? She was attached to Hiccup and recognized his potential, but was that enough upon which to build a marriage? She didn't want to marry anyone at the moment, but truthfully, Hiccup was a better option than most. Fishlegs was too intellectual for her and Tuffnut was too lackadaisical and a bit of a womanizer to boot. Snotlout was infatuated with her, but he was a boor - she could best him physically, and he didn't even have Hiccup's charm, wit, or warmth to compensate.

"I suppose the best thing I can do is spend more time with him and see how compatible we are," Astrid said absently to Stormfly as they reached the harbour. Having missed the rest of the blonde's internal debate, Stormfly chirped in a noncommittal fashion.

Astrid was glad she had thought to take Stormfly flying this morning. By Grey Odin's Ghost, she needed to clear her head now more than ever.

* * *

Although Hiccup had not yet left his homestead, he too was awake with the sun. In the spring and summer months, he and Gobber preferred to do some of their blacksmithing work earlier in the day to avoid working through the hottest part of the afternoon. Not that afternoons beyond the North Sea were ever that scorching, but when one was in close proximity to a roaring forge, every degree of temperature counted.

Hiccup knew that Gobber wanted to spend the next few days mending chain-mail. This wasn't terribly difficult, though it could be tedious to pore over all the rings and bend them back into shape. Some of the hauberks that needed repairing required new sections, however, and for that Gobber and Hiccup needed to make the iron rings. A long thin iron bar would be heated in the forge until it was more malleable. It would then be pushed through a series of steel draw plates with increasingly smaller holes in them until the rod was stretched and stripped into thick bits of wire. Later on, they would wind the heated wire around metal spindles and cut down the length of the coil in order to form open-ended rings that could then be linked into the iron coats.

Because the process was likely to take several days, Hiccup was in no great hurry to leave his bed furs and rush over to Gobber's forge. The burly blacksmith was likely going to polish off a large breakfast before getting to work, and since dragon raids were no longer a regular event, fixing armour was not the time-sensitive matter it had once been.

Instead of lying in his bed, Hiccup had moved his bed furs to the floor next to Toothless, whose tail was curled protectively around the pile. Nestled in his furs against the Night Fury's body, Hiccup was feeling warm and comfortable. Portions of his lexicon were in his lap, but his spring green eyes were unfocused.

He had spent a lot of the night reflecting on what Fishlegs had said about Odin and Yggdrasil. It brought back memories of his mother holding him in her lap and telling him stories about the gods. When he thought back to those stories, he always heard them in her voice; he recalled tales about Light Elves and Dark Elves, dwarves and giants, and how there were nine different worlds all linked by the branches of Yggdrasil, the giant ash also known as the Tree of Life or the World Tree. The reminiscence was bittersweet for Hiccup, knowing as he did that he could not return to his mother's arms. Not for the first time, he wondered how Valhallarama would have reacted to his maimed leg or the presence of a dragon in her home if she were still alive.

After Valhallarama's death, Stoick had not been much for telling stories to his young son. He did not see the point of prolonging childhood when the boy had so much to learn about leading a village and when dragon attacks made life perilous; why waste what time you had on tall tales and fripperies? So it had been a while since Hiccup had had any myths relayed to him, and of the stories he did remember, some of the details were somewhat hazy. He recalled liking the ones about Thor because as a child he had aspired to be big and brave and strong, just like the hammer-wielding deity. He had been equally fond of stories about Loki, despite his ultimate betrayal at Ragnarok; something about his sense of not belonging and his ability to use cleverness instead of force had appealed to young Hiccup, even then.

He wished he could remember more about Odin and Yggdrasil, though. Berk was not a particularly pious place, but most people still believed in the gods, and Hiccup could not help but wonder which parts of their legends had kernels of truth in them. Maybe when he was done with Gobber today, he could go ask Fishlegs the details of that myth.

Shifting in his furs, Hiccup sighed. He supposed he ought to get a move on; the sooner he met Gobber's quota for the day, the quicker he could free up his afternoon for other pursuits. Feeling Hiccup's motion as the boy extricated himself from the warm cocoon of blankets, Toothless rumbled deep in his throat, protesting.

"You can keep sleeping if you want, Toothless," Hiccup addressed the dragon as he pulled on his usual long-sleeved green tunic and slipped into his favourite brown fur vest. He tucked the lexicon inside his vest pocket in case he thought of any words or concepts that needed to be added. "I'm just going to Gobber's smithy, I'll be back later. There's some fish in the barrel outside if you're hungry."

Toothless regarded him owlishly. He made a belching sound and tucked in his back left leg, his way of indicating his recognition of the blacksmith's name. Hiccup blinked, bemused at this early morning review. Toothless proceeded to hiss and blow a small spark, denoting that he understood Hiccup's intention of going to the forge. Finally, he gazed out the window and made the warbling fish noise.

A huge smile broke on Hiccup's freckled face. "At this rate I think you understand Norse better than Snotlout. Mind you, that doesn't say much." Toothless made a low humming noise that Hiccup took for assent. The Night Fury blinked languidly, settling his head into the dent in the furry blankets caused by Hiccup's recently vacated body.

"See you later, bud." Hiccup paused to scratch the dragon behind one of his cranial fins and hobbled out the door. He grimaced slightly at the jarring sensation of the prosthetic leg chafing on his stump as the metal foot grated against a partially hidden stone. As he made his way through the village, several villagers greeted him. After years of feeling disjointed in Berk, he was still unused to overt exhibitions of friendliness.

Arriving at the forge, Hiccup saw that Gobber was already present and in the process of trading his goblet hand-fixture for a hook.

"Good morning, lad," the blacksmith greeted cheerfully, twisting the hook into place.

"Morning, Gobber. Sleep well?"

"I had another nightmare about those trolls," Gobber said confidentially. "Little blighters were stealing me socks and took me fake legs along with 'em. I spent half the dream hopping around on one foot, it was exhausting. I can't be being tired in me sleep too, or I'll never get rest! Unimaginable shithead bastards."

Involuntarily, Hiccup found himself glancing discreetly at Gobber's leg. His peg leg was attached and seemed sturdy as usual. He opened his mouth to say something, saw Gobber continuing to grumble under his breath about what menaces trolls were, and decided against it. Taking some bread and cheese from the table, Hiccup nibbled at the breakfast fare as Gobber set about separating the hauberks that only required the bending of rings back into shape from those that needed new sections entirely. The blonde Viking tugged at his moustache, assessing the piles to determine how many rings would be required. The heap of more severely damaged coats was the smaller of the two.

"Won't need to make as many rings as I thought," Gobber grunted. "I'm thinking we could do the bulk of the rings in two days, if we keep a steady rhythm. Maybe three, if we tarry. I'd rather keep the forge hot in the morning only, and bend the other rings back in shape after lunch, when the afternoon light is better. Of course, we don't need to rush it. I'll still give you some time later in the afternoon when the direct sunlight is beyond the window. I know you like to run off with your beastie that time of day," he finished with a chuckle.

Hiccup grinned sheepishly, grateful at Gobber's genial leniency. As far as apprentice masters went, he was glad his father's best friend had taken him on. Not everyone was as accommodating as the amputee blacksmith, and during his lessons he could always find practical applications to implement in his own invention designs.

Once the forge was heated and Hiccup and Gobber settled into the rhythm of their work, the morning seemed to pass quickly. Despite the tedium inherent in repetitive work, Hiccup often found that time moved in swift gallops when his hands were kept busy and his mind was focused. With every project, he tried to pretend that each element he made was under consideration as a masterwork, and so every piece, whether unique or one of a hundred, had to be perfect. In this way he kept any multiple batches from becoming sloppy. The gods knew that if ever one of his nails or horseshoes were faulty he would never hear the end of it from Gobber, who favoured precision and quality over speedy production.

"All right lad, take a break," Gobber announced in due time. When Hiccup looked out the window, he saw that the warm golden glow of dawn had given way to the sharp glare of an afternoon sun riding high. "I expect Warthilda will have some stew for you in the Great Hall. Off with you, now."

Hiccup removed his heavy leather blacksmith apron and headed outside. After the stuffy heat of the forge, the salty breeze felt good on his skin. Feeling rather ravenous after Gobber's mention of stew, he made his way to the Great Hall where villagers sometimes shared food communally for those whose work during the day prevented them from preparing meals for themselves.

Some villagers demanded payment or a barter in exchange for their repast, though Hiccup knew Warthilda was always willing to dispense with her food in exchange for a kind word or a story. According to Tuffnut, Warthilda was only nice to Hiccup because she had been hoping Stoick would look her way after Valhallarama had died. The male twin apparently did not know she was generous with everyone but he and his sibling, whom she referred to as Dumbnut and Dumbernut interchangeably depending on who was more irritating on any given day. The twins were prone to scuffling and these altercations had torn up her garden more than once. Given that trading expeditions to Berk were few and far between and thus seeds for certain plants were hard to come by, it was amazing that the female Viking restricted herself to denying the twins food instead of actually poisoning them. On small island settlements like Berk, people took disruptions to their hobbies very seriously, and even Vikings who had a passion for quietly gardening could grow quite fierce.

True to Gobber's prediction, the stout matronly woman had a bowl of stew steaming and ready when Hiccup approached. They chatted amiably for a few minutes as Hiccup ate and regaled her with anecdotes about Toothless. By the time he was done eating, more people had crowded into the hall. Not feeling like socializing with a whole group, Hiccup bid Warthilda farewell and slipped out circumspectly. Knowing Gobber would not expect him back for a little while longer, Hiccup decided to go and find Fishlegs to ask him about that myth.

As expected, Hiccup found the beefy boy at his family's bakery. The large blonde Viking was just filling a basket full of freshly baked rolls for his mother to take over to the Great Hall.

"Hello, Dogfins. Hey, Fishlegs," Hiccup greeted politely.

"Hello, Hiccup. Hmm, you're looking rather peaky," Dogfins replied, promptly stuffing a roll into Hiccup's open mouth. "Here, this should tide you over until supper," she continued in a quintessentially motherly voice, ignoring as the auburn-haired Viking sputtered and attempted not to choke on the crusty white bread. Viking mothers were genetically predisposed to bulking up their children with as much food as possible; suddenly Fishlegs' stature made more sense to Hiccup than ever before.

"If you want sweet buns for later, you best be startin' them while I take these over to the Great Hall," Dogfins admonished her son sternly as she hoisted the basket of rolls to her hip. "Nice to see you, Hiccup," she finished demurely. His mouth still crammed full of white bread, Hiccup made a valiant attempt to chew, failed, and settled on a small wave instead.

"Hey, Hiccup," Fishlegs said as his mother departed. He bustled around the kitchen area, fetching flour, eggs, and sugar to start on the sweet buns. "What are you up to?"

"Just taking a quick break before I get back to the forge. Working on chain-mail," Hiccup replied. "Did you figure out how to deal with Meatlug's problem yet?"

Fishlegs sighed. "Not yet. She feels left out if we make her stay outside, so now in the evenings she stays half in and half out of the window. When her front is in the room, she can still see us, but her hindquarters stay outside so we don't get any of her 'emissions.'"

Hiccup worked very hard to keep a straight face as he pictured a large warty Gronckle behind wriggling through Fishlegs' window for all of Berk to smell. He was beginning to appreciate having befriended a Night Fury more and more.

"So I was thinking about that myth about Odin and Yggdrasil you mentioned yesterday. I don't suppose you remember how it goes, do you?"

Fishlegs paused in his mixing of dough. "I don't remember all the details," he admitted. "You might try asking Dagmar, though. Her father probably has a codex with all that mythological stuff."

"That's not a bad idea," Hiccup said. "It might be neat to see it firsthand. I better go now, then, or I'll have to wait until after supper. Gobber will be expecting me back before long."

"Why the hurry?" Fishlegs inquired, starting to roll the dough out.

"Just curious, it was bothering me that I couldn't remember."

Fishlegs rolled his eyes. The whole village knew what happened when Hiccup got too curious. "Well, she's either out gathering herbs or at home mixing ink. Tell her hi if you see her."

"I will," Hiccup promised, turning to leave. "Thanks for your help."

Once out of the bakery, Hiccup shook himself off. Even though he had been in there only briefly, he had still managed to get himself covered in flour. He set off at a brisk stroll towards Dagmar's home, hoping she was there. Energized by the idea of satisfying his inquisitiveness, his artificial leg hardly even irked him as it sometimes did when he moved too quickly on hard terrain.

Dagmar was the daughter of Toebeard the Bright, who acted more or less as Berk's historian. Built like a barrel and balding, Toebeard's lack of cranial hair was more than compensated for by his vast fiery red beard that was twisted into a complicated series of dreadlocks. Despite this fierce appearance, Toebeard was a lover of illuminated manuscripts and kept the largest collection of anyone on Berk, besides perhaps Gudrunir, the Village Elder. In addition to his library, he also illuminated codices of his own, including a history and a genealogy of the Berk colony as well as its more mundane records. He produced most of Berk's vellum supply, sometimes assisting at the tannery to do so.

Arriving at Toebeard's homestead, Hiccup seized the knocker and banged. In true artisan style, it was carved in the likeness of a Hideous Zippleback with the double heads and double tails twisted into an ornate Celtic knot.

The door swung open so suddenly that Hiccup stumbled right through the doorway.

"Well, I was probably going to invite you in anyways, but you still should have asked first," a female voice joked.

"Do you yank the door open on all your guests, Dagmar?" Hiccup retorted, grinning up at her. Though they were of an age, Dagmar was at least a foot taller than him - she had always been abnormally tall for her age. Willowy rather than strong, she had never shown any aptitude for Dragon Training. Though Ruffnut had scoffed that she was doomed to a life on the Bucket Brigade, Dagmar seemed perfectly content with that, as Hiccup knew that she aspired to be an artisan like her father rather than a warrior.

In defiance of her mother's desires to have her be a weaver, Dagmar hated it so much that Toebeard had finally taught her how to make ink and aid him in small passages and border illustrations. Consequently, Hiccup often came to her when he needed ink or parchment for new notebooks. They got along well enough, though Hiccup was fairly sure that the bookish Fishlegs was soft on her.

"I was just about to go out and look for some buckthorn berries to mix up a batch of green. Anything I can do for you before I go?" Dagmar asked, shifting her long thick blond braid in order to sling a satchel over her shoulder.

"Er, yes actually. I've been trying to remember how the legend of Odin and Yggdrasil goes and Fishlegs suggested that your father might have a codex," Hiccup said, peering around the room as though the book would come if called.

"Gods, yes, he loves that manuscript. He always goes on about how the 'colours are so luscious and the runes are so exquisite.' You could never tell he's mounted the heads of seven Thunderdrums on the wall, the way he talks. Not that they're still there, after everything that's happened," Dagmar added hastily, catching Hiccup's eye.

"Anyways, I can't tell you the number of times I've tried to replicate that crimson, but I can never get it as bright." She plucked at her divided tunic to illustrate; it was a dull red. "It's a really lovely codex. I'll lend it to you, as long as you promise to bring it back soon. He'll mount _my_ head instead if anything happens to it."

"Noted," Hiccup chuckled.

"Grid! Rog! Puck!" Dagmar whistled.

There was a hiss of air behind Hiccup as three Terrible Terrors darted around him and settled at Dagmar's feet. The largest was a muted blue-green colour while a slightly smaller one was a saturated scarlet flecked with yellow. The smallest was an almost painfully vibrant shade of green.

"I don't like flying much," Dagmar confided to Hiccup. "But they're useful to have around. Did you know you can train them to fetch things?"

"I think you'd be surprised at what they can learn," Hiccup muttered, thinking of Toothless and the afternoons they spent practising basic conversation.

"Well, you are the expert after all," Dagmar laughed. "All right, whomever of you finds my father's copy of _Tales Ande Exploites of Goddes Moste Mighty_ gets a bucket of halibut!" Dagmar addressed the Terrors, who immediately squawked and scuttled off towards some high shelves, clawing and climbing each other in their eagerness.

Hiccup raised an eyebrow.

"What? It beats climbing up those dusty high shelves, they can just fly up there."

"If they are smart enough to understand what you want, maybe you should consider not treating them as dumb labour."

"Don't get preachy on me, Hiccup," Dagmar rebuffed, though she had the grace to look sheepish.

"Besides, how can they read the titles to know the difference between one or the other?" Hiccup asked.

"Um... don't tell my dad, but I rub the covers of ones we take out a lot with different scents so they can smell the difference. That mythology one may or may not smell like the aforementioned halibut."

For the second time that day, Hiccup fought to keep a straight face as he pictured Dagmar surreptitiously smearing all of her father's manuscripts with rotting fish.

There was a high-pitched screeching noise followed by a series of snarls. Looking up, Hiccup could see the scarlet Terror and the small bright green one battling over a tome.

"Don't fight over it, I saw that Rog had it first," Dagmar called. The scarlet dragon made what could only be called a triumphant cackle. The electric green one took this opportunity to tug the codex free and swooped back to Dagmar, depositing the book at her feet and nuzzling against her calf.

"Rog still had it first, you know," Dagmar said to the dragon, scratching its head while simultaneously picking up the manuscript. "Don't be a brat, Puck. You and Rog can share that bucket. And at least save one fish for Grid. I won't have you getting selfish." Puck mewed in response.

Hiccup watched their interaction, bemused. _'It seems like everyone relates to their dragons in different ways. Fishlegs acts like a mother hen and Dagmar treats them like kids she can boss around. Am I the only one who has been trying to talk to their dragon, or is Toothless the only one who tries to talk back?'_

Hiccup was brought back to the present as Dagmar dragged him over to a table and lay the codex on it for his perusal. She disappeared momentarily, reappearing with a bucket of the promised halibut that she carried outside. The trio of Terrible Terrors followed her, keeping close to her heels and chirping like overgrown scaly birds.

Closing the door on her way back inside, Dagmar approached the table and lifted the cover of the manuscript. As promised, the illustrations were jewel-bright and the penmanship of the runes was delicately elegant. Hiccup flipped through the vellum pages with something akin to veneration. He sometimes dabbled in drawing from life when he wasn't sketching designs, but the artists who had crafted this codex were truly gifted. The miniature figures were lifelike and the elaborate border illustrations were filled with gorgeous spirals and knots that were dizzying to follow with the eye.

"Here are the sections on Yggdrasil," Dagmar pointed out helpfully.

Whoever had been in charge of designing the Tree of Life had not skimped on it. The knots of the expansive trunk were full of painstaking scrollwork and inlaid with both gold and silver leaf. The leaves were so brightly green and blue that they looked almost enamelled. Hiccup studied the pages intently, noticing that nestled into the scrollwork of the roots were the labyrinthine emerald coils of a dragon. He traced his finger along the twisting shape.

"That's Nidhoggr, the dragon who forever gnaws on Yggdrasil's roots hoping it will topple. It is said he will consume the corpses of the fallen at the coming of Ragnarok," Dagmar said, motioning towards the runic inscription.

"Yes, I can read," Hiccup said.

Dagmar glared. "Don't be snarky or I'll put it away."

"Sorry, sorry," Hiccup apologized hastily.

"See that eagle in the upper branches? He and Nidhoggr have a rivalry. This squirrel here, see, you can just see him interwoven in the branches, that's Ratatoskr. He runs up and down the tree passing on their insults to each other," Dagmar relayed, appearing to enjoy her role as an impromptu teacher.

Hiccup meditated on the page for a few moments longer before turning it carefully. On another page, there appeared to be a close-up of some of Yggdrasil's branches. Ratatoskr the squirrel was illuminated in greater detail, the tufts of his fur carefully delineated with precise strokes of grey and cobalt ink. He noticed a male figure with a horned helmet and only one eye hanging upside down from a thick branch. His beard was composed of intersecting curlicues and gold leaf had been liberally applied to his costume. Under his hanging body crouched the figures of three terribly old women, two of which were weaving a convoluted tapestry. The third was drawing an urn from what appeared to be a pale stream lapping at their feet.

_'Odin, the All-Father,'_ Hiccup read. _'To defend the Aesir, the gods, from the terrible violence of the Jotuns, the giants, Odin sought the wisdom of the three Norns. Ancient creatures who had seen the worlds form and gained knowledge through the ages, these crones wove the fate of every living thing into the tapestry of time, even those of the gods. They instructed Odin All-Father how he could gain foresight, but warned that it would come at a price. Pierced by a spear, he hung himself upon Yggdrasil, the Tree of Life, for nine days and nine nights. During this ordeal, Odin's spirit traversed Yggdrasil's branches to all the worlds and learned much. After terrible fasting and agony, he made a sacrifice of himself and was resurrected, and in a flash of sagacity gained enlightenment: eighteen runes and protective charms, which he later bestowed upon his children, the humans on Midgard. Odin had also been bequeathed the gifts of prophecy and insight. In exchange for plucking out his eye, the Norns allowed him to drink one mouthful from Mimir's Well, the enchanted pool that nourishes the roots of Yggdrasil. With that one sip, he was endowed with wisdom and foresight. He saw the coming of his own doom at Ragnarok but used his powers to strive against that apocalypse nonetheless.'_

Hiccup stopped reading, digesting the sacrifices Odin had made in his quest for knowledge.

"Quite a guy, eh?" Dagmar asked. "Wait until you see the sections on Freya, Father calls them 'divinely lavish.' Of course, Mother doesn't like the way Father appreciates the anatomical correctness of the nubile female bodies, but what does she know about art? Freya is _supposed_ to be sexual!" the tall blonde complained. Hiccup ignored her, still fixated on the image of Odin ironically utilizing the Tree of Life as a gallows.

"You said I could borrow this, right?" he inquired, motioning towards the tome.

"Oh, yes, just bring it back soon. And prepare to lose the other leg if there's so much as a stain on it!"

"That's in poor taste, especially coming from the girl who smeared it with halibut."

"That's different, it didn't stain. Plus it's a learning experience for the dragons. You wouldn't deny them that, would you?"

Hiccup just shook his head, grinning. "I'll bring it back soon," he promised. "Thanks, Dagmar. Well, I won't keep you when there are buckthorn berries to be gathered. And if I go now, I'll have enough time to drop this at home before I go back to the forge. The gods forbid this gets anywhere near a fire, or you and Toebeard will feed me to your Terrible Terrors."

"Yes, though I expect we would mince you first. You know, for their own comfort. You cause enough trouble without accidentally choking my poor little babies."

"Er, thanks for that," Hiccup said awkwardly, departing with the book under his arm. Dagmar waved cheerfully and headed off towards the forested section of the island. Outside the doorway, the three Terrible Terrors were still gorging themselves from the bucket of halibut.

Making his way back home, Hiccup saw that it was empty - both Stoick and Toothless had left on their respective business. Stoick tended to make rounds of the village in the afternoon, checking up with villagers and generally keeping the peace and assessing any problems that came up. Hiccup had no idea what Toothless got up to when he wasn't around. For all he knew, he was napping in a meadow somewhere or sparring with Hookfang, Snotlout's Monstrous Nightmare. Smiling at the thought, he stashed the codex on a table littered with half-completed designs and turned to leave. He had just made it out the door when he was confronted with Astrid.

"There you are, Hiccup, I've been looking for you everywhere. Every time I asked after you, I had just missed you."

"Uh, hey Astrid. Yeah, I've been all over this morning. The forge, the Great Hall, Fishlegs' place, Dagmar's house. I'm about to head back to Gobber's."

"Well, um, how about I walk with you?" Astrid was a blushing a furious shade of red that put Dagmar's dye attempts to shame.

"Er, I know my way to the forge, but sure, I would appreciate the company," said Hiccup, blushing in turn. _'Idiot! Obviously you know the way to the forge. No need to be rude. Girls _love_ it when you're sarcastic to them...'_

"Yes, good, good," Astrid said, staring determinedly up at the sky. "I mean, I haven't seen much of you lately. And I've been thinking we should spend more time together."

Hiccup almost avoided walking into a torch post. Almost. Astrid pretended not to notice.

"That's great! Uh, any particular reason why?" asked Hiccup, rubbing his head.

Astrid frowned. "Do I need a reason? It's not like we're getting betrothed or anything. But if we were, wouldn't you want to spend more time together, to see how things went?" The blonde winced. _'Smooth, Astrid.'_

"Uh, I guess?" said Hiccup, nonplussed.

Previously, Astrid had noticed that some couples liked to hold hands. Already feeling reckless and somewhat discombobulated, she decided to experiment and tentatively took Hiccup's hand. It was callused but warm, and she felt a little giddy at the lingering contact. She had been more used to giving brief kisses, which were a little more exhibitionist but ultimately did not last very long. Aside from when she had been clinging desperately to Hiccup in order not to fall off Toothless during their first ornery flight, Astrid could not recall ever having prolonged contact with the boy. It wasn't that bad, really.

Hiccup stared at Astrid's hand on his, eyes wide. A giant smile ghosted across his features and he tightened his grip, feeling more confident.

"So, how has your day gone?" he queried.

"Oh, not too bad. Practised flying with Stormfly, trounced both Ruff and Tuff in a wrestling match. The usual. How about you?"

"Fixing chain-mail with Gobber. Borrowed a manuscript from Dagmar because I was trying to remember the details of a myth. After I finish up with Gobber, I'll probably go flying with Toothless. There's some stuff I want to practice."

Hiccup thought about telling her more about what he and Toothless were trying to accomplish, but he caught a glimpse of Astrid's face; she seemed somewhat put out.

"I thought we were going to spend some time together."

Hiccup blinked. "Aren't we spending time together now?"

Astrid looked frustrated and withdrew her hand. "Well, yes, but I meant _more_ time together. Like later, we could have the whole afternoon."

"Well, I kind of have plans with Toothless-"

"He's just a dragon, Hiccup! I know they're different than what we thought they were, but you can't seriously be telling me you _have plans_ with him!"

_'Yep, definitely not the right time to tell her Toothless and I are trying to talk to each other,'_ Hiccup grimaced mentally.

Astrid knew she was seething and tried to calm down. "Sorry, forget it. Just do whatever it is you are supposed to do with him. We can meet up when you're done. Just try not to take all day." She took Hiccup's hand again.

Hiccup felt wrong-footed, not knowing what to expect. Although his revelation to Berk about dragons had been life-altering, things did not change overnight. People still had grudges and dragons were still dangerous. Astrid was the same way. Although their shared experiences had endowed them with a better understanding of one another and brought them closer, they were still very different people. He really, really liked Astrid, but he still found it difficult to bridge the gap between them sometimes. He never knew what she was thinking or what she expected of him. He had spent years trying to gain his father's approval; he felt it could easily take lifetimes to win Astrid's.

Looking around, Hiccup noticed Snotlout approaching. In the past, the sight of his cousin had set his teeth on edge, but at the moment he would have welcomed anything that made his walk with Astrid feel less like a blundering stroll off a cliff.

"Hiccup," Snotlout gave his cousin a respectful nod. He tried to brush casually against Astrid and missed as the blonde stepped back. Not to be deterred, he pretended to trip and stumbled hugely, managing to "catch" himself by slipping an arm around her slim waist. "Oh hey Astrid, totally didn't see you there for a moment."

Astrid gave him one of her patented death glares and flung his arm off her, gazing expectantly at Hiccup. "Well, aren't you going to defend my honour?"

Hiccup stared. "Excuse me?"

"I am obviously with you, and Snotlout persists in making advances. Any decent Viking would forcibly halt such behaviour."

Snotlout stared, too; this was new. He literally tried this move at least twice a day and Astrid had never done more than shove his arm off or call him names. He and Hiccup exchanged bewildered glances.

"Uh, well, I don't really think Snotlout was calling your honour into question..." Hiccup started, before seeing Astrid's face. "Er, I mean, you're usually pretty good at defending your own honour. You've never needed anyone's help before." Next to him, Snotlout nodded fervently. He had a couple of permanent scars from Astrid "defending her honour," though as a rule he took it as challenge more than a damper.

"It's the principle of the thing!" Astrid countered.

Hiccup turned to face Snotlout, praying he wouldn't take this too seriously. "Hey Snot, Astrid is my girl. I mean, she's with me. So uh, can you back off? Please?"

Snotlout was feeling uncomfortable about this whole exchange. "Sure, whatever. I'm busy anyways." He noticed Ruffnut about a hundred feet away. "What's that, Ruff? You need my help?! Okay, I'll be right there!" he yelled, running off. From a hundred feet away, Ruffnut just goggled at him quizzically. It was obvious she hadn't heard a word that Snotlout had just shouted.

Astrid turned to Hiccup. "Excuse me?! Since when am I 'your girl?!'"

"You _just_ asked me to defend your honour!" Hiccup said, throwing up his arms exasperatedly.

"I said defend my honour, not make me your property!"

_'And I was having such a good day before,'_ Hiccup thought dejectedly.

_'I honestly thought he would be better at courting,'_ Astrid fumed.

"Well, this has been fun. Oh hey look, here's Gobber's! I'd better get in there," Hiccup mumbled, bolting. He stopped short, seeing that the forge was still hot. Gobber was inside, hammering at something.

"Back already, Hiccup?" Gobber hailed. "I thought you'd be a bit longer, I was just banging out the dents in me tankard attachment while the forge was still hot. Without the heat, I just end up smashing it."

"Yes," Hiccup agreed, feeling vaguely panicked because Astrid had followed him into the smithy.

"Okay, well, I'll just do some work until you're ready," Hiccup said, taking out his lexicon and pretending to look busy so that Astrid would leave and he could salvage some dignity.

"That doesn't look like smith work," Astrid commented, looking over his shoulder.

"No, it's for Toothless," Hiccup retorted absently. He bit his lip. _'Probably shouldn't have admitted that.'_

"You can't be serious," Astrid snorted, attempting to snatch the lexicon to get a closer look at it.

_'Dragon dung on a stick!' _Hiccup swore mentally, twitching the packet away from her grasping fingers. Being that Astrid was about a thousand times more athletic than Hiccup, she managed to grab it despite his efforts.

"Why would you give your dragon a bunch of doodles?" Astrid demanded, flipping through it.

"Oh, he's just the artsy type," Hiccup mumbled, making a wild attempt to reclaim his graphic dictionary.

"Geez, Hiccup, why is this so important to you? I'm not going to hurt it," Astrid challenged, holding it above his head.

"It just is, okay?!" Hiccup flailed, trying to reach it.

"I just want to look at it," Astrid insisted.

"I know it's hard to tell but it represents a significant investment of work. Come on Astrid, give it back," Hiccup pleaded.

He finally got hold of a corner and tried to yank it free. Astrid maintained her grip, and suddenly they were engaged in a tug of war. Gobber had stopped working on his tankard, gawking at the grappling teenagers.

"Yeh know, this really isn't the place for that-" he began.

"Fine, I don't care that much anyways," Astrid grumbled, letting go. Hiccup went flying backwards and lost his grip on the lexicon, which flew through the air.

Green eyes wide, Hiccup looked at Astrid, stricken, as the lexicon landed in the still glowing forge.

* * *

The Gronckle regarded Plague Breath's clutch of eggs thoughtfully. To the uninitiated eye, they almost resembled speckled granite boulders, though somewhat less craggy. There were about three hundred of them, nestled together in the bowels of the volcano. At this height, he could not tell if they had quickened or not. He sincerely hoped that without the presence of their mother the foetuses had withered.

Plague Breath was clearly an ancient breed of dragon. Although most other dragons had the impression that Plague Breath had come first and the mountain had grown around her, the truth was that she was not native to the area. Perhaps that meant that the eggs could not be expected to flourish without help.

While it had not occurred during his lifetime, the Gronckle had distant memories of his sire and dam recounting tales about Plague Breath's arrival. She had been full of vitality in those days, not the parasitic hermit she had become. At her exhalations, whole islands had burned up and birds and dragons alike had plummeted from the sky, writhing in agony at her toxic breath. She had taken up residence in the volcano, and though at first she had hunted regularly, gradually her siren voice had wormed itself inside the heads of most dragons in the vicinity. To not bring her tribute was not only an unimaginable insult but also an instantaneous death sentence.

Some species had proven more resilient than others against her magnetic wiles, such as the Night Furies, the Whispering Deaths, and the Skrills. In the early days, they had attempted to rally against her. She had hunted those species almost to extinction, or compelled other dragons to do so for her. Only when she had retreated more and more often into her mountain did those species have a chance to revive, if only laggardly.

Yes, all in all, the Gronckle would much prefer if those eggs fossilized or dropped into the ocean. He refused to fly much closer, fearful that the eggs might have something of their mother's luring force. He would not be surprised if the eggs of such a creature had the power to compel other creatures to care for them in the same way Plague Breath captivated dragons into feeding her.

His tiny wings buzzing powerfully, he turned clumsily in midair to depart. In the dull red light, he had not noticed the fine spidery cracks that had formed on several of the eggs.


	3. Yggdrasil

**To Be God-Touched  
**By Celestra (El S)  
August 2012

**Author's Notes:**

Thank you so much to those who have reviewed so far! And if any of you are reading quietly and enjoying, don't be shy; it would make me so happy if you left even a brief review to say so :)

* * *

**Chapter Three  
**Yggdrasil

Even though Astrid had been desperately sorry, Hiccup had not had the heart to speak to her for three days. While she had not been malicious and had no idea what the lexicon meant to Hiccup when she had plucked it away, that did not supersede the fact that several months of work had burnt up like a phoenix, but without the option of a swift or easy resurrection. Surprisingly, a small section of it had been salvageable, but by the time Hiccup had been able to find the tongs and retrieve the packet of parchment from the glowing forge, numerous pages had been damaged to the point of illegibility or burnt to cinders.

Of course, he could always do it over again, but its very absence made him feel panicked - knowing he could not use it presently made all the words he thought he had successfully memorized slide away from his recollection like water through a sieve. There was also the fact that the lexicon had represented a significant accumulation of parchment. The livestock population on Berk was carefully controlled and so hides were not always readily available to make into vellum. Furthermore, other villagers needed parchment as well; if Hiccup approached Toebeard to get it all at once, the historian would certainly not allow Hiccup to monopolize his entire supply.

A week and a half had passed. When he was not working with Gobber or engaging in miscellaneous household chores, Hiccup retreated to the cove with Toothless, poring over _Tales Ande Exploites of Goddes Moste Mighty. _In going there he knew they were not likely to be disturbed, which suited his antisocial mood just fine. The mythological tome was strangely comforting; while the intellectual part of him appreciated the codex's artistry, a small part of him treasured re-reading the myths because they reminded him of his mother.

He continued to dwell on the segments dealing with Odin's pursuit of enlightenment, feeling resentful that wisdom came so easily to the god. Yes, he had made sacrifices, but what was losing an eye or resurrection to a _god, _anyways?

At first, Toothless had seemed perplexed and upset that their communication lessons had been halted. He attempted to give Hiccup several multiple choice quizzes on draconic noises, which Hiccup proceeded to fail dismally. When the boy had showed him the mutilated dictionary, the Night Fury had regarded it for several long moments in silent contemplation. Something in the luminous jade eyes eyes told Hiccup that the dragon felt its loss just as keenly; he wondered whether Toothless was experiencing the same anxious feeling of amnesia towards Norse sounds. They still tried to practise, but their vocabulary had shrunk considerably.

Even so, Toothless seemed content to curl up in the cove and have the miserable Viking nestle up against his midnight body while he read. If it was breezy, Toothless would position his wing in such a way that it shielded Hiccup and the fluttering pages from the worst of the winds, or drape it over him like a vast leathery blanket. It reminded Hiccup of the early days of their friendship, which was oddly soothing. Sometimes he felt far more at ease sitting noiselessly with his dragon than talking to any people. He lived on Berk, but Toothless was his home.

Hiccup flipped pages of the codex languidly, blushing when he caught a glimpse of some very anatomically correct images of Freya; Dagmar hadn't been kidding. He paused on his favourite page, the one of Yggdrasil with Nidhoggr's body coiled around the roots. Almost on its own accord, his finger idly traced along the emerald serpentine loops. He absently wondered how far removed Berk's dragons were from those of legend. A dragon like the Red Death would have seemed perfectly at home in the carnage of Ragnarok, whereas he could not imagine a Terrible Terror distressing a powerhouse like Thor.

Toothless made a trilling noise. With Hiccup leaning against him, he could feel the sound reverberating through his body. The noise sounded familiar, but for the life of him he could not place it. For the umpteenth time, he wished he could pull out the lexicon and scan the drawings until he found an image that Toothless could indicate corresponded to the noise.

The Night Fury nudged him, seeming to think that his word should have been sufficiently clear for Hiccup to discern. Hiccup buried his face in his hands, feeling oddly impotent and more than a little frustrated. He was pretty sure it was an emotion-related word, but he was blanking.

"I'm sorry, bud, I just can't remember..."

Hiccup's chagrin must have been present on his face, as Toothless seemed to droop. Hiccup bit his lip, running his hand through his auburn hair in a frazzled gesture. He had gotten much better at reading the Night Fury's body language to compensate for the slow pace of their burgeoning language skills, but it did not always feel like enough.

"Sometimes I just wish I could see inside your head, Toothless. It would be so much easier..."

Toothless nodded his head, and Hiccup had to wonder whether he was agreeing with the tone of his voice or the content of his words.

* * *

"Sometimes I just wish I could see inside your head, Toothless. It would be so much easier..."

The Night Fury recognized the twolegs chattering for 'head' and the sound Deftclaw used to signify his name, though not much else. Even now, he was not entirely sure what the twolegs name meant or how close it came to translating his true name, but he knew that was what his twolegs called him and so he answered to it.

For a long time, his twolegs name had been the only one he heard, and he had thought he was in danger of forgetting the name his kin had given him. It was only when other dragons had started to roost more permanently on the twolegs habitat did he begin to be addressed as Nightshade once more. Strangely, he sometimes found he was slower in responding to that than to his twolegs name.

Nightshade flicked his tongue distractedly. He had been trying to curb himself of thinking of Deftclaw and his clan as 'twolegs.' He knew that the Aesir called them 'humans,' but as a rule dragons tended to prefer descriptive language for names, and the word 'human' meant nothing to them. Before Nightshade had been grounded and forced into direct contact with them, the label 'twolegs' was nothing more than a descriptor differentiating them from the woolly fourlegs or the silverscales. They were similarly mindless creatures that happened to walk upright on two feet, and nothing more.

Of course, that was before Nightshade had met Deftclaw and bonded with him. He assumed that the young twolegs had a name in his own language and he recognized the sounds that formed it as such, but in his mind the Night Fury thought of him as Deftclaw because of the nimble appendages that had created the device that allowed him to fly again. At first, Nightshade had wondered if it was appropriate to give the twolegs a name, as naming ceremonies had special connotations to dragons. Dragons were only given names a year after their hatching period, which was a relatively long time since 'dragon years' lasted longer than their mammalian counterparts. The nesting dams saw no point in naming new hatchlings when mortality rates were high, and this only worsened with the arrival of Plague Breath; the behemoth had a tendency to eat hatchlings in lieu of tribute at times.

If hatchlings survived to be a certain age, all the dams in the nesting community would name them jointly in a small ritual, usually favouring poetic or formulaic expressions that aptly described the young dragon's most notable traits. Names sometimes got recycled when dams were lacking in creativity or when certain formulas were particularly catchy. As far as he knew, Nightshade did not know any others who shared his name at this time, but this may have been because Night Furies, Skrills, and Whispering Deaths were less common than other species and thus there was less opportunity for sharing to be obligatory. Nightshade himself had been so named for his colouration and the deadly accuracy of his aim. Some dams had joked that they'd rather consume the lethal plant than have him turn his eye upon them in anger.

As Deftclaw nuzzled up against him, Nightshade found himself marvelling at how his world had shifted. He had been brought up to think that twole- no, humans - were vicious creatures that slaughtered dragons for sport. A paranoid Zippleback had been convinced of a complicated plot whereby they insidiously prevented dragons from acquiring prey in order to force Plague Breath to dip into her own followers as food, thus depleting the dragon population by remote control. Nightshade did not think much of that theory, though he had conceded that if the twole- no, humans - would just sit back quietly and let the dragons carry off a woolly fourlegs or two, far less kin would have been devoured for bringing Plague Breath insufficient tribute.

The day he had been knocked from the sky, Nightshade had been certain that death had found him at last. Instead of being consumed by Plague Breath in a fit of irrational ire, he was sure that in a bout of irony he would starve to death himself unless he found a way to extricate himself from the cords that had twisted his body and gouged deep marks in his tough midnight hide. The only thing that could have possibly made the situation worse was to be discovered by a twolegs, so of course, that was what happened.

And yet the twolegs did not fall upon him shrieking or brandishing steelfangs. The twolegs - no, if anyone was to have earned an evolution from twolegs to human, it was Deftclaw - the _human_ had been young and Nightshade could smell fear radiating from the small body. He had detected that same stench on many an adult twolegs before watching them disembowel kin, or die trying in the attempt. He had shut his eyes, preparing for a deathblow that miraculously never came.

Instead, in what Nightshade had considered to be a supremely foolish move, Deftclaw used his steelfang to cut him loose. Nightshade had contemplated mauling the adolescent twolegs for this folly, but abstained at the last moment, feeling in his blood that it would be imprudent to take the life of one who had spared him his own. Afterwards, as his unlikely friendship with the scrawny biped grew, he was immeasurably glad he had done so. It had been a notable decision to name Deftclaw, since by doing so he had accepted him as a manner of kin.

Nightshade had grown from tolerating Deftclaw's insistent presence in the cove to actually looking forward to his visits, and not just because the human brought him silverscales on a regular basis. Up close, the human was different than any creature he had previously known. He had assumed they were just like upright woolly fourlegs, but he could see that Deftclaw's eyes were lively and spirited. Nightshade would have felt bad eating something that had such alert perception in its eyes.

Instead, Nightshade had decided that humans were more like dragons - pinkish, fleshy, grounded, flightless dragons that made odd noises and odder gestures, perhaps, but more draconic than dumb prey, nonetheless. Like kin, they emitted a myriad of complex, layered scents that consistently surprised and even delighted Nightshade. When he was around Deftclaw or his clan, he always felt like he was learning something.

In fact, he felt downright humbled; before, he had always presumed that dragons were the only sentient creatures around. Knowing that there was another intelligent species made him feel somehow less lonely, in a general way. He had spent large portions of his life feeling solitary both because his clan was far-flung and because his ability to resist Plague Breath's siren voice meant very few kin could identify with him. If he did not at least purport to behave enthralled once in a while, he was liable to be headhunted.

And so as much as he missed the thrill of flight, Nightshade had felt somewhat safe while grounded on the island cove, where Plague Breath could not find him and where he was not obliged to feign being spellbound in order to be accepted among his peers. And because he was not a dragon and had no part in these intrigues, Nightshade had come to cherish the human's companionship on the island. The company of one disconnected to such issues made for a pleasant change. Moreover, Deftclaw exuded a scent of desolation and vulnerability that had drawn Nightshade in despite himself. Nightshade was sure that he himself had manifested the same scents more than once, and so he always felt pleased with himself anytime a direct action of his resulted in the human smelling happier.

Maybe these feelings had seemed irrational at first, but Nightshade firmly believed that Deftclaw had earned the rights to such unconditional affection because of the way he had earned his name. Convinced he would be grounded for the rest of his life because of his maimed tail fin, Nightshade had been completely dumbstruck when he saw the efforts the human had undertaken in order to help him reach the skies again. Typically when a dragon was rendered flightless, even in less dangerous territory, their lifespan was dramatically shortened - there was no way to heal such an injury. Clearly no one had taught Deftclaw that, as with his deft pink claws he had cleverly constructed a rig that substituted the movements of a real fin almost perfectly.

Nightshade was a little embarrassed to recall how he had purposely thrown Deftclaw off his back in his eagerness to fly again the first time the human had attempted to implement his device. Since then, Nightshade almost thought he preferred to fly with a rider. Yes, the feeling of streamlining his body into a steep dive and sensing every muscle of his body coming together to pull out of it just in time was intoxicating. So was the sensation of skimming the clouds with the tips of his wings so that they exploded in sparkling wisps that refreshingly dewed his sinuous body. But every dragon got to partake in such feats. Poor, wingless humans, however... Nightshade felt like a veritable Aesir, like Odin himself, in sharing the gift of flight with his human. After nearly being grounded indefinitely, he could no longer take flight for granted merely as a way of moving around, as some dragons did. And with a rider who could never take to the skies without his aid, he was reminded constantly what a blessing flight truly was.

While some dragons had mocked him for allowing a twolegs to mount him, Nightshade found their symbiotic way of flying both exhilarating and propitious. He learned things and actually strengthened his body in his efforts to keep his human from falling off, and having the extra pair of eyes was actually quite helpful. Deftclaw almost never pulled at him or sought to control his every movement the way he had observed some humans doing with long-tailed fourlegs. More often they worked in tandem; the two bodies working together as one seemed somehow more satisfying than a solo excursion. And as some dragons found long flights in the deep blue dizzying, the comforting weight of company was not unpleasant.

His human had given him much, much more than he had ever expected. He had never thought he'd feel this way about another dragon, never mind expecting to bond with a _human_.

Under his wing, Deftclaw seemed to be dozing with the leafhide open in his lap. Nightshade briefly considered tasting the leafhide while Deftclaw was not looking. While all leafhides had a whiff of cured or parched woolly fourlegs to them despite the way they fluttered like strangely geometric tree leaves, this one smelled peculiarly like silverscales. He had attempted to lick it several times, though Deftclaw kept snatching it away. Nightshade snuffled in contemplation. Maybe Deftclaw was extra sensitive because their talking leafhide had been incinerated. Yes, that was probably it.

He hoped Deftclaw could repair it soon; he was eager to resume trying to communicate with the skinny human. He was hankering to decipher all the human's moods and scents and put words to them, and to make sense of Deftclaw's chattering. He was certain that it was language and not just babbling incoherent sounds, as some dragons claimed. And perhaps more than anything, he wanted to prove to the other dragons that twolegs were humans - that is to say, that even if they were not kin exactly, they might be cousins of a sort, worthy of a name instead of a descriptor.

Nightshade contracted his claws reflexively, feeling a vague spasm of protectiveness over his human. He wondered if Deftclaw knew how close his clan had been to death, several times over. Even with Plague Breath's demise and the cessation of the necessity for tribute, a number of dragons preferred the taste of meat to silverscales. There was an inherent preference for any type of fourlegs as they often did not struggle overmuch when carried off, but if a twolegs could be acquired safely, there had been a modicum of prestige in that because of the challenge they posed - they did not go down easily. Following Plague Breath's downfall, several dragons were still inclined to raid the island for all its creatures.

Concerned for his human's safety, Nightshade felt obliged to speak up, and thankfully, his role in Plague Breath's destruction had lent him a certain preeminence amongst most other dragons. He called for a truce, attempting to explain that humans were more like flightless dragons than upright fourlegs, that it would be a crime to devour creatures of equal intelligence to kin. He owed a human his life, showing off his artificial tail fin as proof that humans were not all so heinous as previously believed.

To his very great surprise, a Nadder, a Gronckle, a Zippleback, a Nightmare, and several Terrors had lent their voices to his, emphasizing that Deftclaw in particular had always gone out of his way to avoid harming dragons, even in the Death Pit. They affirmed that he had even been ostracized publicly from his clan for seemingly trying to halt dragon-killing altogether. Having been captives for the express purpose of training humans to kill dragon folk, their testimonies to Deftclaw's character had particular weight; even amongst other dragons, the small human had attained a special, almost reverent status.

And gradually, dragons began to observe the humans on their island more closely. Grudgingly, many were coming around to Nightshade's point of view and were willing to admit that perhaps twolegs were more sentient than previously thought and could be trained. Some had undertaken training young humans enthusiastically after hearing about the way Nightshade had bonded with one so successfully.

Under his wing, Deftclaw shifted positions, still gripping the leafhide. Nightshade peered down at him, noticing that his spring green eyes were open. Ah, so he was awake after all. In this new position, Nightshade could see the leafhide much more clearly. It reminded him of Deftclaw's makeshift leafhide because of all the pictures, though these images were much more brightly coloured and ornate. He supposed they were lovely in their own way, but he preferred Deftclaw's pictures - there was a marked clarity to them, a carefulness in their lines, though perhaps he was biased. He associated Deftclaw's images with the exclusivity of an intimate bond, which made them special.

Deftclaw had been spending an awful lot of time looking at this leafhide, Nightshade noted with a vague feeling of inquisitiveness. Over the last three days, the human had been emanating smells of misery and frustration, lightly smattered with hints of acerbity and a bittersweet scent that might have been nostalgia. It left Nightshade feeling slightly anxious and concerned. There was also a sharp whiff of curiosity, more pungent than usual, though it was not unusual for Deftclaw to smell faintly like that more or less consistently. The scent cut most sharply when he was looking at two particular rectangle leaves. Nightshade looked closer, recognizing what could only be an illustration of Yggdrasil with Nidhoggr twined around the roots.

Nightshade cocked his head in interest. The artist had certainly been imaginative - Nidhoggr's body was not nearly that long and knotted, and he was a much murkier green shot with rust-coloured scales, though Nightshade supposed it was not too bad for a human guess.

The other geometric leaf that had Deftclaw riveted still had to do with Yggdrasil, though this one depicted Odin hanging from its branches. Although he could not read the runes beside the image, Nightshade could tell it was Odin by his missing eye and the context. This rectangular leaf in particular seemed to rankle at Deftclaw; he had been fixating on it with scents that spoke of both resentment and awe, touched with longing.

After several moments of deliberation, Nightshade wondered whether this meant Deftclaw was impressed with the worlds beyond the Midgard plane and was disheartened that as a human he was constrained to the one realm. Nightshade could understand this; it was like being grounded permanently, but on a more profound level. As spawn descended from Nidhoggr, Nightshade was free to traverse Yggdrasil's branches to other worlds as long as he kept the standing oath to Odin not to aid his patriarch in corroding the World Tree's roots. Nightshade did not take this opportunity often, though perhaps he should have; maybe he could have escaped Plague Breath's tyranny this way. This thought was accompanied by a pang as he realized that if he had left Midgard, he would never have met Deftclaw.

But wait, that could not be the only reason for Deftclaw's melancholy, could it? Nightshade pondered. Of course not, Deftclaw had smelled disconsolate since the conflagration of their talking leafhide, though his dwelling upon this silverscales-scented one had certainly intensified the smell. He wondered why one thing should bear upon the other, and wished fervently that he had the talking leafhide so he could at least attempt to ask. As long as he was careful, in the earlier days Deftclaw had encouraged him to flip the geometric leaves himself so he could motion to images to indicate what he wanted. It could be hard to string complex thoughts together, but Deftclaw was both bright and patient and so they had made great strides in this regard.

All Nightshade knew was that he hated the scent of Deftclaw's despondence in his nostrils. After all his human had done to help him fly again and make him feel safe, Nightshade would gladly do anything to cheer the boy.

The Night Fury glanced again at the colourful leafhide. Something about Yggdrasil was obviously occupying Deftclaw's mind to such an extent that the energy of it was mingling with his other bodily scents. Although he did not understand this fixation, an idea to cheer Deftclaw had started to suggest itself at the back of his mind. It was almost ludicrous and certainly unorthodox, but if Yggdrasil was weighing upon the boy on top of his other issues, perhaps Nightshade could bring him there. Not to use as a bridge between realms, as humans were not permitted to use that function of the World Tree. But it was probable that no human alive had ever seen where Yggdrasil's branches touched upon Midgard, and the uniqueness of such a journey would surely perk up a curious mind like Deftclaw's.

Even though he did not understand the nature of Deftclaw's interest in Yggdrasil, maybe seeing it in the flesh would quench it while simultaneously helping him to stop moping over the loss of the talking leafhide. And not that Nightshade was one for keeping scores, but perhaps exposing Deftclaw to the sheer singularity of such a special place would help lessen his debt to the human for returning the power of flight to him. He could finally express his gratitude by showing him something humans would consider truly extraordinary.

No one would mind, would they? If he just showed Deftclaw the hidden spot where Yggdrasil touched the Midgard plane? No one would even have to know, except maybe the Gateswimmer. And the Gateswimmer rarely felt the urge to inquire into such matters; when a dragon wanted to go to the World Tree, the Gateswimmer let them go about their business in silence.

Yes, Nightshade decided, he would call upon the Gateswimmer. He could not even remember the last time he had used his services. He was ancient in his own right, a distantly related child of Jormungandr - the sea serpent spawn of Loki that Odin had tossed into the ocean in a fit of rage. Jormungandr must have bred before he attained his current size, as the ocean water vitalized him into growing tremendously long - so long that he could encircle the whole of Midgard, grasping his own tail in his mouth. The Gateswimmer was not quite so large, but his exceptional abilities were nonetheless beneficial to dragon folk.

In order to diminish the chance of miscellaneous creatures accidentally stumbling upon it, Yggdrasil's presence on Midgard was hidden deeply underwater. Those dragons incapable of breathing in an aquatic environment for any length of time had to rely on the Gateswimmer to take them there. But would the Gateswimmer object to Nightshade bringing along a human? Removed from both Plague Breath's coercion and dragon battles against humans, would the Gateswimmer be susceptible to persuasion by Nightshade and Deftclaw's fame amongst dragon kin, or would he maintain a rule of dragons only? Or would he not care either way?

Nightshade supposed he would simply have to summon him and see what happened.

* * *

The day dawned sunny but brisk, almost to the point of chilliness. Hiccup felt somewhat put out after having been spoiled by Berk's recent bout of warm weather, but summers in the North Sea never lasted long. It was approaching the two-week mark since he had borrowed _Tales Ande Exploites of Goddes Moste Mighty _from Dagmar, and he could tell the tall blonde was antsy to get it back. She had not said anything to him personally, but he kept waking up to seeing Grid, Rog, and Puck staring at him with their snouts pressed up against the glass of his window, and it was starting to creep him out a bit. Not to mention their presence invariably made Toothless tetchy and growly, which made getting back to sleep almost impossible.

This morning he caught the electric green Terror, Puck, attempting to tunnel under his door, and so Hiccup decided it was finally time to return the manuscript. _'I've already read it four times, and it's not like reading it replaces my dictionary, after all.'_

Toothless seemed unusually hyper this morning, though Hiccup assumed it was because the Terrible Terror's scritching on the door was irritating him. The Night Fury kept darting around the room in vigorous bounds before sitting up eagerly and flicking his beaming jade eyes back and forth from Hiccup to the door. He whined and fluttered his wings, and even without his lexicon Hiccup knew the dragon wanted to go flying.

"Okay, bud, yes, I got it. We'll go out as soon as I return Dagmar's book, okay?" Toothless' glowing green eyes fixed upon the codex and he mewled in a tone that sounded to Hiccup oddly like approval.

Hiccup shrugged into his clothes and grabbed a chunk of black bread that Stoick had left for him by the hearth. With the codex hefted carefully under his arm, Hiccup strode outside, distractedly munching on his breakfast. There was a disgruntled squawk as Puck's digging was interrupted, the motion of the opening door flinging her several feet away with a noisy thump as she hit the ground. Toothless slithered out behind Hiccup and gave the small dragon the kind of glare that could curdle milk.

Ignoring the larger dragon, Puck twittered and began following them, skipping along in jerky birdlike hops. Every time Hiccup stopped to turn around and look at her, she would freeze in a valiant attempt to be subtle. Hiccup wondered how much of this behaviour derived naturally from the Terror's personality and how much was the result of Dagmar incorrigibly corrupting her dragon.

"Relax, I'm bringing it back to her, see?" Hiccup held the codex aloft so Puck could see it. Puck immediately launched herself into the air, gripped the manuscript in her miniature scrabbling claws, and took off in the direction of Dagmar's house emitting a series of triumphant squeaks. Hiccup wondered if the small dragon was expecting a bucket of halibut for her troubles, and looked at Toothless in bewilderment.

"I honestly can't tell if that's convenient or obnoxious."

Toothless merely blinked and yawned. Seeming to remember himself, his eyes lit up and he scampered in the direction of the docks. Luckily for Hiccup, he and Gobber had finished mending the chain-mail, and for the moment Gobber had no new tasks for him. This respite was fortunate, as Toothless did not seem to be in the kind of mood to wait patiently for Hiccup to finish at the forge. He was like a dog who had spent too much time cooped up indoors and was bursting to frolic outside.

Trusting Puck to deliver the codex safely back to Dagmar, Hiccup followed Toothless, blithely anticipating the flight. He was done sulking and flying was probably just the thing to lift his mood.

"Hey there, Hiccup."

Hiccup whirled to see who had spoken while simultaneously trying to keep an eye on where Toothless was heading. The split focus made him momentarily dizzy.

"Uh, hi Ruffnut," Hiccup greeted, craning to see where the Night Fury went. Oh well, he had a pretty good idea where the dragon was going. It's not like he could fly off without him, after all.

The female twin was leaning against a homestead topped with a motif of alternating blue and red Deadly Nadder heads. Hiccup tried to avoid looking at the house, as the Nadders reminded him too much of Astrid. Even if he was tired of sulking, the athletic blonde had not ceased to be a sore spot with him. Despite her apologies, Astrid had continued to be inexplicably edgy and querulous around him.

"How's my tattoo design coming along?" Ruffnut asked, her blue-green eyes glittering. She drew an apple out of a leather sack over her shoulder and took a large bite out of it without taking her eyes off Hiccup. The sack was bulging; what she and Tuffnut ate for lunch could keep Hiccup fed and bloated for two whole days. Hiccup wondered if she was eating the apple merely for the effect of her contrived stance, since he had never known either of the twins to enjoy fruit very much.

"I don't remember actually ever agreeing to do that," Hiccup said cautiously. Ruffnut's grin as she crunched was unnerving him, especially since she kept chewing that one bite. Again, he wondered if it was for the effect or if she just could not bring herself to swallow a bite of fruit.

"I really think you should think about it," Ruffnut said slyly, though the effect was somewhat ruined by her talking with a full mouth. Grimacing, she finally swallowed and wiped her mouth.

"I thought about it, but I have to say, I'm booked up for now. I mean, I already promised Fishlegs I would do a giant one of a Gronckle fighting a Monstrous Nightmare for his back and since that's going to take a while, I won't have time to do yours-"

"Shut up, Hiccup," the slouching blonde interrupted his nonsensical excuse. "I want that tattoo. It's a pretty sweet design idea, don't you think? The main body would be on my lower back and the tails would twist around my inner thighs, while the heads can twirl together and form a knot around my bellybutton. It's totally sexy."

Hiccup reddened, as his vivid imagination had immediately caused him to picture far more of Ruffnut than he had ever cared to see. And thanks to the images of Freya from the codex, he was reasonably sure he was picturing it anatomically correctly.

Ruffnut ignored his reaction and continued to speak. "Sooo, I think you should start working on some designs for me. Otherwise, I can just go find Astrid for you."

"What?"

"I saw her this morning and she's looking for you. I think she's mad that you're ignoring her," Ruffnut grinned. She always seemed to find discord hilarious.

"I'm not ignoring her, I just don't want to talk to her, so I avoid her," Hiccup said, feeling slightly panicky. Training dragons never daunted him as much as the combined attentions of Berk's two female Dragon Trainers.

"Well, all I'm saying is that if you can show me a design or two by tonight, I can easily let her know you're somewhere on the other side of the island. Otherwise..."

"Err," Hiccup mumbled, unused to being blackmailed under such unusual terms. Thankfully, he was saved from saying anything more by the return of Toothless. Seeing that Hiccup had not followed him, he had pranced back to retrieve him. The impatient Night Fury flung Hiccup onto his back, snatched Ruffnut's leather bag of food from her shoulder and galloped off towards the harbour, his favourite place from which to take flight.

"Hey, you stole my lunch!" Hiccup heard Ruffnut wailing behind him.

"Have I ever told you that your timing is impeccable?" Hiccup chuckled to Toothless, amused despite the way his ribs jolted uncomfortably against the flying rig from the way he was draped over Toothless' back. He could not hear Toothless' response, but he could feel the ululation rumble lightly through his body.

Instead of turning downhill to where the boats were tied in Berk's harbour, Toothless veered uphill to the cliff that overlooked the docks. It provided a very clear view of the sea rippling out towards the horizon, speckled with the carved Guardian Pillars that jutted from the water ominously. Toothless carefully deposited both Hiccup and the leather sack onto the ground.

Hiccup regarded the leather sack with some disquiet, feeling guilty that Toothless had nabbed it from Ruffnut; he was not supposed to be encouraging such behaviour. But on the other hand, he did not know how long he would be flying for, and he had not thought to pack a lunch of his own. And Ruffnut would certainly be able to procure more food, probably at Tuffnut's expense. Chuckling again, he slung it over his shoulder and mounted Toothless properly, making sure his prosthetic was securely latched onto Toothless' harness. More than once he had almost suffered a nasty fall by not checking that he was sound before takeoff.

Once in the air, Hiccup felt his spirits rise. The sky was a dazzling blue, though he was glad for the warmth of his furry vest on top of his flying accoutrements; higher up, the air was very chilly, and moving against the wind cut quite crisply.

Under him, Toothless seemed eager to work some kinks out of his wings. Hiccup tensed the controls of the tail fin. After flying so often with the Night Fury, he could tell instinctively both what the dragon under him wanted and how to move seamlessly with him - too much delay between Hiccup working the controls and Toothless attempting a movement could be fatal.

Together they raced a kestrel, outpacing it easily. They then performed several barrel rolls as a warm-up before falling into an almost vertical dive. They pulled out of it only feet from the water, and angling his body slightly, Toothless' right wing skimmed the surface and kicked up a fine spray of droplets that glittered in the sun like liquid diamonds.

After several more aerial tricks, Hiccup could sense Toothless was done frolicking and had a destination in mind. They headed northeast with Toothless maintaining a fairly steady course. It was getting colder, and just when Hiccup's face was stinging to the point where he had decided to ask Toothless whether they could head out of the wind, the dragon started to circle in wide loops closer and closer to the sea. Rising out of the water were several rocky pillars, less like islands than roughly hewn obelisks. Hiccup scrutinized them, recognizing that they had gone part of the way to the abandoned dragon nest.

"What are we going here for, Toothless?"

The Night Fury made no sign of hearing him as he concentrated on landing on an outcrop that was slightly wider than the others. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun against the glimmering blue water, Hiccup started to dismount, but Toothless made a low grunting noise and twisted sharply, indicating that Hiccup should stay where he was.

Bewildered, Hiccup glanced around, hoping for some hint as to why Toothless had brought him here. Toothless also seemed to be looking around. Finally, he gazed fixedly at a particular point in the water and reared up. Hiccup squeezed the saddle and the sides of Toothless' body with his thighs, anticipating a sudden movement, but it turned out to be unnecessary. The motion was slight; all he had done was change positions. Still staring at that one small point in the water, Toothless let loose a dozen white-hot firebolts in the same direction. Instead of steaming and fizzling out when they hit the water, as Hiccup expected, they seemed to penetrate the surface and continued to jet down, disappearing into pinpricks of light only from distance, not from loss of power.

For several minutes, nothing happened. Then the water all around them _pulsed_; Hiccup was aware of feeling it more than seeing it. The area where Toothless had fired his shots was bubbling over and seemed to be lit from underneath, as though someone had been waiting at the bottom of the sea with a mirror and had reflected the heat and light of Toothless' firebolts back towards the surface.

The bubbling faded and for several more minutes, the water was still. Hiccup eyed Toothless in consternation; the Night Fury had not ceased gazing at the point in the water.

Without warning, something broke the surface. A great shape rose steadily out, slick sheets of water sliding off it and cascading back into the sea like undersized waterfalls. Hiccup felt his jaw drop as he beheld the largest Scauldron he had ever seen.

He had seen dead Scauldrons before, and as a rule they tended to be much bigger than airborne dragons. Berk's Vikings typically failed when they tried to kill Scauldrons in their own element, as boats were no match for creatures that moved so fluidly in the water. But sometimes they washed up on the shores of Berk and beached themselves accidentally, where they would be quickly slaughtered.

This Scauldron was several times larger than any of the ones that had washed up on Berk's beaches. It looked to be smaller than the Red Death, but perhaps that was because the Red Death had been all bulk. The Scauldron had a great round body on top of almost comically miniscule legs, but there was a certain grace to its long serpentine neck. It was a deep, royal blue speckled with lighter blue markings, and Hiccup could tell that this was a creature that could easily hide itself in the depths of the sea despite its mass. Like a pelican, the Scauldron had a diaphanous throat pouch where it stored and heated water to boiling temperatures. Unlike the sea bird, however, the Scauldron's throat pouch looked like it could easily fit two or three of Berk's houses in it.

Despite its size, the Scauldron did not appear to share the Red Death's aggressive temperament; it almost seemed tranquil. While he had been staring at it agape, Hiccup suddenly realized that Toothless had been chattering at it. The Scauldron appeared to be solemnly listening. There was a silence, and then the gigantic sea dragon made a low keening noise that reminded Hiccup of whale-song. Underneath him, Toothless let out a gleeful bark.

Hiccup tried to swallow down panic as the Scauldron's serpentine neck snaked in their direction, the throat pouch quivering. _'Isn't that what they do when they're about to scald something?'_

"Come on, Toothless, he's going to boil us! Let's move!"

Stubbornly, Toothless held his ground, though he made a reassuring growl. Hiccup resolved to calm down. _'Obviously something is going on here, and I know Toothless wouldn't hurt me. I just have to trust him.'_

Hiccup braced himself and threw his hands over his face as the Scauldron let forth a burst of water in their direction, but to his great surprise it was lukewarm, not smouldering. Instead of drenching him and Toothless, the water enveloped them and left about four feet of space all around them, forming a type of bubble. Hiccup bit down his anxiety again, noting how Toothless seemed to regard this as perfectly natural. _'Someone clearly forgot to include this in the Dragon Manual...'_

Hiccup could not tell if the Scauldron had propelled its whole body over to them or whether its neck happened to be long enough to reach, but its head was moving alarmingly close to them on their outcrop. He could feel his thighs involuntarily squeezing against the saddle and Toothless' sides once more, but the Night Fury did not flinch.

A split second before it happened, Hiccup's eyes widened and he called out. "Toothless, I think he's going to eat us!-" before his prediction was interrupted by its coming true.

He experienced a brief moment of vertigo as he and Toothless tumbled head over tail into the Scauldron's mouth and he found himself yelling wildly. But then they righted themselves, and instead of sliding down the veritable tunnel of the Scauldron's long neck, Hiccup found Toothless and himself sitting in the Scauldron's throat pouch, cushioned by the air pocket of the bubble the Scauldron had engulfed them in. The membrane of the throat pouch was finely veined and so translucent that Hiccup fancied he could catch glances of the world outside here and there.

There was whooshing sensation and then Hiccup felt his ears pop, and he realized that the Scauldron had dived.

"We are inside a sea dragon going under the sea at an alarming speed. We are _**inside**_ a _**sea dragon**_!" Hiccup's voice hitched shrilly. Toothless merely blinked at him placidly and pantomimed taking several deep breaths.

Despite Hiccup's dismay, the Scauldron's motions were exceedingly smooth, and any jolts were more than compensated for by the air bubble's cushioning effect. As he felt the Scauldron going deeper and deeper, he wondered how he and Toothless were still able to breathe, and then realized the air bubble served a dual purpose. The further under the sea they went, the darker and more silent it grew, until all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the occasional groan of the Scauldron's body around him.

Without light, it was hard for Hiccup to tell how far or how fast the Scauldron was swimming. Gradually his breathing calmed, though he could still feel his heart fluttering in his chest like a bird desperately trying to escape his ribcage. All he knew was that the impromptu underwater journey was taking long enough to make him feel hungry, though the last thing he felt like doing was eating. Though Toothless seemed to regard the Scauldron as benevolent, Hiccup had a feeling it would hardly appreciate him throwing up in its mouth. Moreover, Toothless probably would not appreciate it either since they were sharing the same air bubble. How strange that he felt seasick, when Toothless' aerial antics were more intense and yet had never made him airsick.

After a while, Hiccup was aware that the Scauldron was no longer diving and instead seemed to have levelled out. It made him feel less queasy, and with his stomach settled, he started to feel inquisitive about the purpose of this journey. Toothless had been unfazed by everything thus far, so he obviously knew their destination. But where were they going, and why?

Underneath him, Toothless suddenly perked up. Around them, Hiccup could feel the Scauldron slowing down. He wondered how many miles under the sea they had travelled, and then decided he would rather not know. Hiccup tried to peer through the membrane of the Scauldron's throat pouch, but all he could perceive was inky blackness. Or could he? Even as he stared he saw - or perhaps he felt - that the gossamer skin was quivering. He could hear a faint rushing in his ears that was growing steadily louder, and before he had time to put a thought together, a gush of water was propelling him and Toothless up and out of the Scauldron's mouth.

Spluttering and blind in the undersea darkness, they tumbled and crashed onto what felt like a stony floor. The air bubble popped, allowing them to finally receive their delayed drenching from before. Pinned under Toothless, Hiccup detached his artificial leg and wriggled out from under him, collapsing in a damp heap beside him and coughing. After a moment, he perceived the fact that though they were miles under the sea, they were breathing.

_'Is this place enchanted, or are we just so deep that this cavern has a trapped pocket of air?'_

Deciding to worry about it later, Hiccup removed his vest to wring it out. Beside him, Toothless was chattering to the Scauldron again. The giant sea dragon bellowed deeply, almost melodiously, in response. Despite its massive size, it twisted gracefully in the water, its long, powerful tail rhythmically beating. It was gone in seconds.

Though Toothless still seemed to be at ease, the darkness was pressing powerfully down upon Hiccup. He could not see his hand in front of his face, though after a moment he was aware of two tiny green pinpricks of light that must have been Toothless' glowing eyes. He attempted to step forward towards the dragon, but with a loud metallic clang, his prosthetic leg caught against the rough floor and he stumbled. Toothless made a concerned whine.

There was silence, and then Hiccup heard a crackling noise as Toothless shot a firebolt. The sudden brightness of it left Hiccup temporarily blinded and he blinked several times. After his eyes adjusted, he noticed that though the firebolt had dissipated, he could faintly see. He and Toothless appeared to be in a rocky cavern deep under the sea. They were enclosed by a stony floor, ceiling, and walls, though several feet away there was a gaping hole where another wall should have been - clearly this was the space where the Scauldron had deposited them. Beyond the hole, Hiccup could see and hear the sea. Eerily, none of it sloshed onto the cavern floor - it was as though an invisible barrier was pressing it back. Seeing a solid wall of crushing sea water held back by no visible force made Hiccup's skin prickle.

Beside him, Toothless shot another firebolt. This time Hiccup was paying more attention, and he saw that the Night Fury had directed his blast directly into the cavern wall. Instead of bouncing off the rocky surface, the charge seemed to sink into it, spreading through it as though it had set the mineral veins on fire. Looking closely, Hiccup realized the reason he could see was because the walls were impregnated with the light of Toothless' firebolts.

"This place...this place has different rules, doesn't it, Toothless?" Hiccup said slowly, his brow furrowing. The Night Fury looked at him but made no reply. Instead, Toothless rumbled deep in his throat and started to trot deeper into the cavern, looking at Hiccup expectantly.

Looking behind him once again at the sea wall, Hiccup followed after the dragon, rushing forward so that they could walk shoulder to shoulder. He put his hand on Toothless' back, feeling reassured by the physical contact.

Side by side, they made their way deeper into the cavern, Toothless occasionally blasting the walls so that they could conduct the light of his firebolts and help illuminate the way. Hiccup had a feeling this was more for his benefit than for Toothless', as the Night Fury had always had excellent night vision.

Like the time spent in the Scauldron's throat pouch, Hiccup found it difficult to measure how long they had been walking. He became aware of the ceiling sloping gently upwards, until they finally arrived in an area where it loomed so high over his head that he could no longer see it. The space was quite expansive, though at the far side his eyes could make out a faint silvery glowing.

"What on earth is this place...?" he murmured, mostly to himself. Even if his lexicon had been completely undamaged, there was no way he could think to ask Toothless the right questions; he had no example drawings that came close to this.

Drawn by the faint glowing, Hiccup found himself running to the far side of the cavern, ignoring the jagged pain of his artificial leg striking the hard craggy floor. As he got closer, he saw that the glowing far wall was not sheerly vertical; it extended strangely into the space of the cavern like the roots of an intrusive tree. It did not appear to be same material that formed the rest of the grotto. Instead of rough-hewn bedrock, it almost looked like knotted, whorled bark. Depending on how he looked at it, it was ivory with mauve striations or mauve with ivory striations - it kept shimmering in his vision, so he found it hard to decide. Tentatively, he traced one finger along it. It had the texture of wood that had been worn smooth by hundreds of thousands of touches.

Whatever it was, it was impossibly huge. Somehow Hiccup could sense that it extended far beyond the ceiling of the cavern and much deeper than the floor.

"You do not show proper reverence for Yggdrasil, child."

Hiccup whirled in surprise. Another human voice deep in the bowels of the sea was the last thing he had expected.

Only...was it human? The figure that had manifested behind Hiccup was short and wizened and looked unimaginably old. There did not appear to be a square inch of skin that was not wrinkled and pockmarked. Its eyes were almost lost in loose folds of skin, and when Hiccup finally perceived them, he could see that they were milky and filmed over in blindness. The scant hair that remained to the creature was wispy and insubstantial, like tendrils of grey clouds that had chosen to nest on the spotty scalp. The clothing that enshrouded the stooping figure had the ephemeral quality of cobwebs. In fact, when Hiccup looked closer, he thought he saw a spider scuttle away into the crook of the figure's armpit.

"Do you not know where you are?" the figure croaked. The language was Norse, but the accent was unfamiliar.

Dumbly, Hiccup shook his head.

"You are at an intersection of worlds, child. This is the place where Yggdrasil touches Midgard. Moreover, this is no place for you."

Toothless had come up behind him. Eyes fixed on the figure, he hissed.

"Oho! And why did you bring him here, spawn of Nidhoggr? Since when do the winged beasts cavort with humans?"

Toothless hissed again; the crone seemed to understand him.

"Ah, but I am no human. As a Norn, I have every right to be here. I _tend_ to Yggdrasil, no thanks to your patriarch's incessant gnawing. "

Toothless issued a series of growls. The crone pursed her lips.

"How sweet. But you cannot pretend that bringing him here is harmless. I have seen the threads of his past, and I know what he seeks, even if he himself does not."

"Er, what is it I am seeking, exactly?" Hiccup interjected.

Despite the milky whiteness of the crone's eyes, they glittered. "The threads of your mind feel much like Odin's when last he came to this place - it is obvious that you seek knowledge. Even this dragon knows it. But this place is not for you."

"Hold on, I didn't come here looking for anything! Toothless brought me here!"

The crone shook her head. "Do you think he ever would have brought you here if he was not responding to the deepest desires of your heart? This dragon, Toothless, as you call him, is far more intuitive than you give him credit for. More intuitive than you are, it appears. But despite your coming here, you are not Aesir, and I am not obliged to grant you anything."

"Come now, Urd. Let's not be rash," came another voice. Somehow, while Hiccup's attention had been focused on the old hag, another figure had manifested.

There could not be a more marked contrast between the crone and this new figure. Where the hag was ancient, stooped, and withered, the young woman who entered his field of vision was tall and graceful, her limbs straight and well-formed. Coppery red curls framed a perfectly oval alabaster face that was unmarked by any blemishes. Hiccup found himself staring, and realized it was because he had never seen anyone without at least a handful of freckles before.

"I don't recall asking you, Verdandi," Urd retorted dryly.

Verdandi shrugged, rearranging the folds of several brightly coloured shawls. The brilliant saturation of the colours was unlike any Hiccup had ever seen on cloth before - bold crimsons and deep blues one could get lost in.

"This boy, Hiccup - yes, I know your name - I have seen the future of his threads, and there is greatness in them. I have seen very few life tapestries as richly woven and vividly coloured as his. It seems to me that while he is not Aesir, this one may merit our attention."

"Seriously, I didn't come here for anything," Hiccup tried to interrupt again. Beside him, Toothless was following the conversation, his eyes jumping back and forth to each speaker in turn.

"And how could Toothless bring me here to give me something that I don't even know?" Hiccup continued.

Verdandi surveyed him, twisting a copper curl between two fingers and pursing her heart-shaped lips.

"The thirst for knowledge is innate and subliminal," she finally said. "One who is inclined towards the pursuit of wisdom seeks it in a general sense and does not always get caught up in the specifics. I do not have the nose of a dragon, but even I can smell curiosity wafting off you."

Hiccup felt uneasy, lifting his arm as though he could smell his own curiosity like any other body odour. Verdandi continued to study him, her manner both sympathetic and inquisitive.

"Yes, it is obvious to me. You want to know this dragon's mind. And he must wish to know yours. Whatever his conscious intent was in bringing you here, Yggdrasil is for knowledge and not idle pursuits or wishes." Verdandi turned back to Urd. "Do you not see? Any human who commands the respect of a dragon deserves the knowledge to nurture that relationship. I cannot read every future thread of his life's tapestry, but surely it includes this."

Urd shook her head. "You are blinded by youth and romance, Verdandi. You wish to participate in events instead of observe them. You say his life tapestry is vividly coloured, but the only reason that would be so would be if he were god-touched. The very act of interfering is what would transform it. And we have no business giving gifts to mortals at all. For all you know, the unusual colours and texture is from having journeyed here, and nothing more."

In frustration, Verdandi turned to a third figure that had quietly appeared. "Skuld, be our tie-breaker."

Hiccup scrutinized the third Norn - for surely that was who these women really were, arguing with each other deep under the sea at the crossroads of earth and a magical tree. Unlike the first two figures, the third Norn had no real distinguishing characteristics, except that she wore a heavy patterned gauze veil that hid everything but a thin mouth. Something about the veil made his eyes keep sliding right off it, as though it could not be beheld by mortal eyes.

Skuld pondered, her fingers forming a steeple. "It seems to me that the tapestry is already woven, interference and all. It cannot be changed by your tenacity, Urd. Whatever he sought here, he will come away with it. And the fact that he made it all the way here..."

All three Norns directed their gaze towards Hiccup as though expecting him to interrupt again. Instead, he remained silent, contemplating Verdandi's words from before. _'You want to know this dragon's mind. And he must wish to know yours...'_

And suddenly he knew that it was true. _'Wasn't that the whole point of making the lexicon? It wasn't an experiment, to prove I could talk to dragons. It was because I wanted to know, really _know_ Toothless. The lexicon is gone, and I could make it again, eventually. But thanks to Toothless, I am at the one place where knowing how to do something can be a tangible request instead of an abstract desire.'_

"Finally caught on to your own heart, have you?" Urd snapped testily. Behind her, Toothless looked like he was seriously contemplating setting her cobwebby clothes on fire. Hiccup ignored them both.

_'Toothless and I worked so hard together with the lexicon. Half the fun was in sitting and learning together. Wouldn't it be cheating to know his mind this way? Gobber taught me to never take shortcuts in good metalworking, so why would I do it with something as important as this?'_

Toothless came up to Hiccup, nuzzling his head to rest under Hiccup's hand. His gesture was clear; whatever Hiccup decided, he would go along with it.

_'Then again, wasn't the whole point of using the lexicon to get the same end result? I have got to be the only person alive who has ever walked along this cavern and seen the things that I've seen. Odin _himself_ passed through here. Should I really pass this up? If we went back home right now, every time we had a slow day of practising or one of us forgot something, wouldn't I regret passing up this chance?'_

"Let's say you're right, and I do want to know his mind. How would I go about it?" Hiccup asked, trying to exude an aura of confidence.

Verdandi looked like she was about to reply before she was interrupted by a flurrying of wings as two jet black ravens swooped down into the chamber. As Hiccup could not tell how far the ceiling reached, he supposed they could have been up there the whole time, though he wondered how they had come to be in a place like this.

"Hugin. Munin." Skuld greeted the birds. "What brings you here?"

One of the ravens opened its beak, and to Hiccup's surprise, Norse words came out.

"Odin sensed unusual activity here, and so he sent us to be his eyes and ears. We have heard much of what has transpired here, and do not think he will not know of this and act accordingly."

Urd gave a derisive snort. "Odin is not master of Yggdrasil. Do not forget, he came to _us_ seeking guidance. Yggdrasil is beyond him."

"Nevertheless, he is master of everything else, and there is a price to be paid when his secret knowledge is encroached on. To have the self-same knowledge of the gods is to fix their eyes on you, and never think there is no cost in that," the second raven replied.

Verdandi addressed Hiccup. "Odin's Ravens are right, there is a price. The things Aesir do are not easily matched by mortals. You should know this if you still intend to reap insight from Yggdrasil."

"And what is the price?" Hiccup asked, his hand still resting on Toothless' head.

Verdandi shook her head. "I cannot say. All I know is that when something is taken, something else is given in its place. That is the way of the world. Perhaps an offering will suffice. Perhaps a cherished memory, or perhaps a year or two off your life."

Hiccup looked down at his maimed leg. _'I already gave part of my own body to help save Toothless from my father and the Red Death. Sometimes it aches, and when I can feel the ghost of my leg, my breath freezes in my chest. But I would rather have lost my leg and kept Toothless than the other way around. After that, I can handle anything else. Besides, when is the last time gods showed up at Berk demanding tribute in exchange for a good harvest or ending winter? As soon as I get home I will go to the shrine and make an offering. After that, well, I'll see what happens. They're welcome to my memories of Snotlout tormenting me or a molar or two.'_

Verdandi smiled sadly as though she could guess his thoughts. "Just remember you may not get to choose what you pay."

Hiccup looked at Toothless. The Night Fury looked calmly back, his jade eyes warm with affection as he made his trademarked toothless grin.

"I had nothing worth having until I met Toothless. Knowing and talking to my best friend will be worth anything I have to pay," Hiccup said confidently. And with a surge of affection, he knew he was right.

"So be it," said Skuld. She turned to Odin's Ravens. "Be off with you. Odin can hardly complain that Yggdrasil gives enlightenment freely. He should be satisfied to know that the mortal is prepared to pay his dues as well."

The first raven that had spoken regarded Hiccup with an imperious, beady black eye. "Just remember, it is not an easy thing, to be be god-touched." With a whirl of onyx feathers and some perfunctory cawing, the two birds were gone.

"Show-offs," Urd muttered under her breath.

"So...now what?" Hiccup queried, looking from one Norn to the other.

"If you are serious about forging a connection with this dragon, about knowing each other's minds, you will have to undergo what we tell you - together," said Verdandi, tossing back a copper curl. Behind her, Urd grimaced at the affectation. "A variation of what Odin went through," Verdandi continued, oblivious to Urd.

Hiccup blanched. "I have to be hanged?!" Picking up on his distress, Toothless shifted into a defensive pose, snarling.

Urd snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, you aren't Aesir, you wouldn't survive that. No, you and the beastie will strip down to your birth-selves and sit in the Tree's knots. Sit, and think on the insight that you wish to acquire."

Hiccup looked at Toothless, unsure of what his "birth-self" was. Urd gave an exasperated sigh.

"Strip down to how you were when you were born. Get naked. I promise I won't get excited about it and peek," Urd snapped.

Feeling exceedingly self-conscious, Hiccup turned away and removed his clothes, boots and all.

"The dragon, too," Verdandi prompted gently.

Fervently hoping that the Norns weren't scrutinizing his naked body, Hiccup moved to remove Toothless' flying gear, being especially careful with the artificial tail fin. In the presence of the supernatural women, he felt compelled to lay the rig and his clothes in neat, folded piles that he would certainly not have bothered with if he were at home.

"Okay, I'm ready," Hiccup said, blushing.

"You are not," Skuld said archly. Hiccup could not see her eyes but he could tell that her face was directed at his lower body. He tried to cross his legs surreptitiously.

"Your real leg may not be at hand, but you were not born with that metal replacement," Verdandi explained. "You will have to remove it as well. Nothing unnatural or inorganic may touch Yggdrasil for a prolonged period of time."

"Oh," said Hiccup, frowning. He unstrapped it and lay it gently down next to Toothless' red leather tail fin. He did not particularly like the prosthetic, but he felt wobbly and unbalanced without it. He had never felt more embarrassed in his life, to be stark naked and balancing on his only leg in front of three occult females. Toothless immediately moved up next to him, offering support so the boy could lean against him.

"Thanks, bud," Hiccup murmured.

Verdandi took Hiccup's arm and led him over to a knot in the Tree wide enough for him to sit. He hopped awkwardly alongside her, Toothless silently at his side lest he stumble and fall. As he settled into the knot, Toothless at his feet, he was profoundly glad that the bark was not abrasive against his smooth, freckled skin.

"Now for the water from Mimir's Well," Verdandi said cheerily.

Hiccup paled. "Odin gave up his eye to drink that, didn't he?"

Urd shot him a contemptuous glance. "As I believe I mentioned before, you are not Aesir. Mimir's Well nourishes the roots of the _Tree of Life_, it is not fit for the consumption of mortals. We will allow you to feel it on your skin, however."

Without warning, Urd sank through the floor and out of sight. Hiccup and Toothless exchanged glances. Hiccup would have been more startled, but that was definitely not even close to the strangest thing he had seen that day.

Within moments, the aged Norn had melted back up through the floor, this time carrying an overflowing urn that looked like it might have been made out of bone; it was decorated with several runes around the rim. Urd handed the vessel to Skuld. Clutching it, the veiled Norn shambled towards Hiccup and Toothless and poured it over each of their heads. The water that flowed from it was remarkably clear, though it had a faint whiff of brimstone to it. Berk was not Christianized, though they had heard tales from far-travelling merchants who had told them about such people and their practices. Hiccup wondered how similar this experience was to their 'baptisms.'

Dripping with the water from Mimir's Well, Hiccup and Toothless sat patiently in the knots of Yggdrasil, Hiccup trying not to shiver. Several moments passed with Verdandi and Skuld looking on in interest, and Urd in ill-disguised derision.

"Is that it?" Hiccup questioned cautiously, not wanting to seem ungrateful or provoke further ire out of the resentful Urd. After all the effort it had taken to get to this place, sitting naked and sopping wet on a tree seemed rather anticlimactic.

_/think that is all/_

Hiccup jumped. The words did not seem to have been spoken out loud; instead, he could almost _feel_ them clanging on the inside of his skull. He slowly turned to look at Toothless as a thought dawned upon him. The dragon stared politely back, one of his cranial fins twitching.

Hiccup concentrated on forming a thought as though it were speech and directing it at the Night Fury. _/Was that you? Can you hear me, Toothless?/_

The words rattled around Hiccup's skull.

_/yes/_

* * *

Usually when a baby dragon hatched, the first thing it saw was its dam. With watchful eyes, the dam would patiently wait for the hatchling to break through the shell on its own, wanting to encourage strength and independence. Only then would she remove the debris and tenderly lick off the amniotic fluids_._

Deep in the depths of Fire Nest Island, Plague Breath was rotting on a beach, but her eggs were hatching nonetheless. Without her heat and maintenance, over two thirds of the eggs had failed to quicken and had subsequently mortified, but the remaining hatchlings were hard at work breaking out of their shells, audience or not.

The first hatchling to break out of its shell squeaked triumphantly, pushing the broken pieces of egg aside with tiny damp claws. It made a facsimile of a roar, for breaking out of the tough, almost granite-like shells was hard work, and he was hungry.

Ordinarily, a mother dragon would provide some regurgitated food for its newly hatched offspring. The hatchling waited, but no such offering was proffered. Around him, he could hear the scrabbling and mewling that meant his siblings were also breaking out of their eggs.

Beside him, a sister was struggling to extricate herself from her egg, crying piteously. He moved beside her, and the little female hatchling made a grateful yip in appreciation of the anticipated help.

The male hatchling contemplated his sister for a moment, feeling hunger gnaw his belly. He wondered if all his siblings were as ravenous as he was.

The yipping stopped as the first male hatchling opened his maw wide and took a tremendous bite out of the still-living flesh of his sister.

**Author's notes:** Please excuse the liberties I have taken with Norse mythology in this chapter. I do so with no intent to offend anyone, just to write a story.

For those concerned with Hiccup taking the easy way out in regards to his communication issues with Toothless - just wait, I have no intention of letting a deus ex machina rule this story.

Finally, I have Toothless using some strange expressions because I would assume that dragons would have no use or understanding for some of the mannerisms or objects used by humans. I think they are mostly self-explanatory, but in case they aren't clear:

twolegs = humans

woolly fourlegs = sheep

long-tailed fourlegs = horses

silverscales = fish

steelfangs = swords or knives

leafhides = books

geometric tree leaves = pages of a book

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, as it was a lot of fun for me. I would love to hear any thoughts on it :)


	4. Doubts and Discoveries

**To Be God-Touched  
**By Celestra (El S)  
August-September 2012

**Author's Notes:** Nothing much to say here, except thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! I appreciate them more than I can say :)

I apologize for the wait for this chapter, I have been very busy recently. I should warn that now that it is September, my pace of updating will slow down due to school in addition to my job, but I hope you can be patient and bear with me and I'll do my best :)

* * *

**Chapter Four  
**Doubts and Discoveries

Stoick knew that as a Viking, he had a reputation to maintain of being tough and unyielding. Moreover, as chieftain of Berk, people expected him to be fierce, level-headed, and commanding by turns. Unfortunately, Stoick was finding it difficult to be any of these things when his only son had been missing for three days.

Granted, it was not unusual for Hiccup to take long flights with Toothless, but they usually never embarked on flights of that length without Hiccup mentioning it to Stoick first. This left Stoick with two options, neither of which particularly appealed to him. The first option was that Hiccup was being his usual forgetful self - a wholly undesirable trait for someone who was supposed to be being groomed for chiefship, for how could Hiccup take care of a village if he could barely keep track of himself? And the second alternative, which Stoick was trying not to dwell upon, was that some accident had befallen the duo.

"What if something happened to the Night Fury's flying device while they were over the sea? They could both be drowned and we wouldn't even know it!" the chief fretted at Gobber.

The two lifelong companions were seated in Stoick's house, polishing off a hearty dinner of mutton stew. At least, Gobber was eating while Stoick paced feverishly, stopping every few steps to stare at the flickering hearth while he left his rough wooden bowl untouched. Although Stoick did a good job of pretending to the other villagers that everything was fine and that he was expecting Hiccup back any time now, Gobber knew better and had insisted on a private supper so that Stoick could go to pieces in peace.

Gobber brought his own bowl close to his eye and squinted at it closely, inspecting to see whether he had missed a drop. Satisfied that no crumb had escaped, he placed the bowl back on the table and regarded Stoick complacently.

"His work is far too good," the blacksmith observed. "And I should know; how do yeh think it got like that? Yeh used to complain that he never listened, but he certainly listened to _me_. If I ever teach him _everything _I know, yeh'll have two competing blacksmiths."

"What if a rogue dragon got them, then?!" Stoick griped, hardly hearing Gobber.

Gobber observed his friend, frowning. The bearded chief had the look of a man who wanted to sit down and wring his hands and scream but did not know how after years of repressing such tendencies. Sure, Stoick was great about dealing with external threats. Winter is coming? Fine, let's start storing a portion of the harvest and curing the meat. A dragon burnt down your house? Let's chop down some timber and build you a new one. But an emotional crisis? Feelings? No, never heard of them, but you can fight them off with a broadsword, can't you?

Stoick stopped in mid-pace, chancing a glance at Gobber. He could not tell if the blacksmith's gaze was laced with pity or sympathy, but he wanted neither. He had been friends with Gobber his whole life, but irrationally he found himself growing incensed. _'You don't have the right to be so calm about this! Not when you don't have children of your own, not when you don't know what it's like to have a piece of you walking around where anything can happen to it! Not when it's your only son, and he's the most important gift your dead wife ever gave you...'_

As quickly as it came, Stoick's fury towards Gobber passed, and he was immeasurably glad he had not said any of it out loud. _'Of course he's calmer. Because he _doesn't_ know_. _But he's trying, he's trying harder than anyone else on this godforsaken rock.'_

"I care about Hiccup too, yeh know," Gobber said gently, as though he had sensed Stoick's thoughts. That had always been the way between the two of them, even as boys. "If I did have a son, I'd want him to be just like Hiccup. Except blonde. And maybe less clumsy."

"Thanks for being here, and keeping me calm," Stoick acknowledged gruffly.

"I don't think I'm doing a great job, but I'm tryin' me best," Gobber said lightly.

Stoick drew a deep breath as his pacing carried him a step too far and he careened against the table, jolting his untouched bowl and spilling a glob of stew onto the tabletop. Suddenly feeling stifled and confined as though the walls of his house were shrinking down on him, Stoick stumbled outside without a word.

Gobber rolled his eyes before heaving himself out of the chair with a grunt, being careful about where he placed his peg-leg. In some areas, the wooden planks of the floor were not as tightly spaced as he would have liked, and more than once the narrow point of his leg had gotten caught or tripped him up. He followed Stoick outside, casually scooping up the spilled stew with his finger and popping it into his mouth.

Outside, Gobber found Stoick peering between other houses towards the setting sun. It was a magnificent sunset; the clouds looked like swabs of cotton in such glowing shades of amber and rosy pink that they ought to have been ornamenting a queen's garment instead of hanging lazily in the sky. The sun was as round and shiny as a newly minted coin as it sank unhurriedly towards the sea, the choppy waves shattering its reflection into a veritable vault. At first Gobber thought Stoick was admiring the view, before he noticed that the brawny chief was shielding his eyes and looking directly into the sun, hoping to see the silhouette of his son and the dragon thrown up against it in a returning flight.

"They'll be back, Stoick," Gobber said, placing his real hand on Stoick's shoulder. "As though the beastie would ever let anything happen to that boy."

"I know, I know. It's just...I came so close to losing him, all those months ago. My only boy! I admit, even now, I still don't always understand him. But...he's my boy. He still has so much growing up to do. I don't think Spitelout worries about Snot half as much."

"I won't say Snotlout's a lost cause," Gobber began, before pausing. The silence grew awkward as the unsaid insult to Stoick's nephew hung heavy in the air. "Well, anyways. Hiccup's a good lad. He and Toothless took down the Red Death together. After that, I'm pretty sure they can do anything. They've probably just slain a sea monster and they're bringing back its head for you to mount on the wall."

Stoick waved his hand as though to sweep Gobber's partial joke away. "I know that he's close with that Night Fury, that the beast saved his life, but Hiccup keeps acting like he's a person. And when he thinks like that, it makes it harder for him to see that in a lot of ways, not everyone agrees that dragons are completely suited to life in Berk..."

Gobber furrowed his brow, tugging absent-mindedly on his moustache. "Yeh can't be telling me after all yeh've seen that yeh think he's just a dumb animal."

Stoick frowned uncomfortably as a memory bubbled to the surface of his conscious thoughts. In the midst of his failed attack on Fire Nest Island, he had seen Hiccup make his way to the burning wreckage of the ships and dive into the flaming water in an attempt to free the shackled dragon from its confines. When after a growing number of seconds he did not see his son reappear, the burly chief had dived into the water after him. Hiccup's unconscious body was almost too light, even with the weight of the water sopping into his woollen clothes.

After a moment of indecision, Stoick had decided to go back down to unlock the Night Fury's chains. Hiccup's desperate attempt to save the dragon's life in the face of such danger was the first time Stoick had perceived some Viking steel in his son, and damned if he would not face the creature that had provoked it.

Stoick's powerful kicks had thrust him swiftly down to the ship, the blazing wreckage illuminating the shackled Night Fury easily and tinting the dragon with an eerie glow in the murky green of the sea. Stoick had hung suspended in the water, regarding the obsidian beast that had cost his son his place in the village. What power did it have to have the ability to entice his son away from generations of established traditions? How did it seduce his boy into risking his life for it?

But when Stoick looked into the dragon's luminous green gaze, he did not see the eyes of a murderous beast. Instead, he was confronted with the unsettling feeling that those eyes understood more than he thought. Though they were different in many ways, Stoick felt as though he were locked into the stare of an equal - and as it became revealed, he and the Night Fury were certainly equals as far as consideration for Hiccup's well-being went.

Even six months later, the intensity of the dragon's scrutiny left Stoick feeling somewhat discomfited. And it was undeniable that both Hiccup and Gobber were right about the Night Fury being more than a dumb animal. _'Is that all the more reason to worry about Hiccup spending so much time with him?'_

"Well, he's no sheep, I'll give you that," Stoick conceded out loud. "But I worry. Sometimes I wish Hiccup would spend a little more time with his human friends, instead of all his time with the Night Fury. He gets along all right with that Hofferson girl. Pusguts and I have even been contemplating a betrothal down the road. "

Gobber shrugged. "If yeh think about it, Hiccup would never have gotten to talking with those kids if not for the confidence his beastie gave him. And don't forget the way he was before, Stoick. If yeh push these things, he'll only push back, harder. Besides, there's something to be said for a future chief called 'Hiccup the Dragon Tamer.'"

"It does have a nice ring to it. Better than 'Hiccup the Underdeveloped' or 'Hiccup the Comically Clumsy.'"

"Don't forget 'Hiccup the Awkwardly Scrawny' or 'Hiccup the Mostly Useless,'" Gobber added helpfully, determinedly ignoring Stoick's glare. "Hey, I didn't come up with those, I'm just sayin'..."

Stoick moved to the side of the house and allowed his body to sink wearily to the ground. Leaning his back against the wall, Stoick's eyes remained trained hopefully on the horizon. Gobber followed suit and sat, absently wishing he had brought more stew outside.

"Sometimes, in my dreams, we're still at war with them," Stoick said, and Gobber knew he was talking about dragons.

Stoick continued. "When Hiccup didn't come back that first day, I started having this dream every night where this whole time, the Night Fury was biding his time...gaining Hiccup's trust, and lulling him into this sense of false security so that when the time came, he could tear his throat out without a fight. The dream always ends with the Night Fury bringing my son's mangled body to me, like a cat with a dead bird..."

"That's pretty grim," Gobber said, dismayed.

"I know," Stoick said thickly. "And when I wake up, I'm always so confused. I leap out of bed reaching for my war hammer and I'm halfway out the door ready to wake everyone, like I've been doing for nigh on twenty-five years, before I remember that we aren't supposed to kill them anymore. Killing dragons is so ingrained into my body's training that I could do it half asleep, but it hasn't caught up with my mind yet."

"It's a credit to yer father's training, I guess," Gobber said.

"Maybe so, but I don't expect Hiccup would appreciate it if I accidentally killed his dragon the next time I go out for a nighttime piss and forget to tune that training out," Stoick said wryly. "And however else I feel about those feral dragons, I don't_ want_ to kill Toothless. My body can't forget its conditioning, but _I _can't forget seeing the way the Night Fury cradled Hiccup in his wings to keep his body safe when they crash-landed. I _know_ that dragon would never harm Hiccup. You could see it in the way he unfurled his wings so tenderly, like he had the most precious gift hidden there and was afraid the world would snatch it away."

Stoick turned to face Gobber, and in the reddening light of the sunset, his thick auburn beard glinted almost as though it were aflame. "That dragon treated my son more reverently than I ever had," Stoick admitted, his voice catching in his throat as he choked his confession out.

Gobber looked back, trying to keep his face impassive. He did not want to break the spell of Stoick actually talking about his feelings by making a face that betrayed too much interest.

"It wasn't anything I tried to do on purpose," Stoick continued in a hushed voice. "But when Valhallarama died, I wasn't thinking that he was a boy who needed a mother. I was thinking, 'my boy is going to be chief someday, and I need to make him strong enough to deal with the weight of that.' I didn't think it was a father's place to coddle him. When I wasn't pushing him to be a better Viking, I was ignoring the things that make him so...so Hiccup," he gestured vaguely.

Stoick turned back to Gobber suddenly. "You know those blacksmith puzzles you're always fiddling with?" he asked, referring to the mechanical puzzles blacksmiths sometimes made to amuse their friends and perplex their peers. The ones Gobber made usually consisted of at least fourteen interlocking metal pieces and could only be disassembled by moving the pieces around in the right order and with the right application of force.

"It's been harder to solve them since me hand went; thanks for reminding me. But yes," Gobber retorted.

"Well, it's like Hiccup and I were pieces in one of those puzzles. No matter how much I pressed or pushed, it was always more like I was jamming him into a place he couldn't fit than getting closer to solving anything. I used to get so frustrated that I couldn't bend him and make him more like me, I wasn't appreciating the fact that he could solve a puzzle like that in his own way."

"Just because I'm a blacksmith doesn't mean you have to tie all your metaphors to my trade," Gobber complained.

"Don't take it personally, I just thought it was a good comparison. Although I did hope you'd like it."

"Actually, it wasn't bad."

"Anyways, my point is that I was focusing on what Hiccup wasn't, and it took his almost dying for me to appreciate what he _was_. I could swear that Val was beside me, watching her boy fight the Red Death, and that she whispered to me: _look at what your son can do._ My _son_, not just some half-formed chief. And it shouldn't have taken me that long to see that. A _dragon_ saw his worth before I did."

"Don't be so hard on yerself, Stoick. It's not like the rest of the village wasn't thinking along the same lines. There's not much room for diversity in the traditional Viking lifestyle," Gobber said consolingly.

Stoick nodded thoughtfully. "We're still different people, I can't deny that. But now that we're finally getting along in the way a father and son should, I can't bear the idea of losing him again, so soon. Once was enough. I think he knows, on some level, and maybe he heard some of the things I said when I was sitting with him. When he was unconscious and recovering from the amputation, I mean. But whenever I imagine initiating him onto the War Council, I always picture taking him aside and apologizing...for the way I was before. Formally."

Gobber snorted. "Since when do Vikings apologize? I think we'd have a rather questionable reputation if every time we pillaged or killed, we apologized and sent them a fruit basket afterwards."

Stoick fixed Gobber with an unimpressed stare.

"Sorry, just tryin' to lighten the mood. Listen, Stoick, he'll be back and yeh'll be able to tell all these things to him instead of me. But if I know Hiccup at all, he went out expecting to be gone for an afternoon and got distracted by something. He's probably discovering a new species of dragon or observing their mating rituals or something. All yeh can do is trust that Toothless will bring him back."

"So you really aren't worried at all?" Stoick queried. His voice was lined with worry, but his light blue eyes betrayed a glimmer of hope.

Gobber threw up his hand and hand-equivalent, nearly pegging Stoick in the nose. "Of course I'm worried! Ach, me best friend's son missing for three days and he asks if I'm worried! But unlike you, I don't torment meself by imagining all these awful scenarios. I just wait."

"Gobber the Belch, you are wise indeed."

"Nah, just not very creative."

"You know, I can't help wondering what Rammi would say about all this if she were here today," Stoick pondered out loud. Gobber raised an eyebrow; he had not heard Stoick use that pet name for his wife in years. Then again, in the time immediately following her death, Stoick could not bring himself to say her name at all; he was a slow healer.

Stoick continued his thought. "I mean, she died during a dragon raid, and here we are, pinning all our prayers onto a dragon to keep her boy safe. D'you think she would have welcomed dragons into Berk, or would she be stubbornly sleeping with her spear every night?"

Gobber frowned. "She was yer wife, yeh'd know better than I, I should hope."

Stoick fiddled with his hands. "It's hard to say, really. If she had lived, Hiccup would have grown up with a mother, and perhaps a brother or sister or two. If he had grown up with those influences, he might not have gotten to be so...so, well, Hiccup-like." Stoick made the vague hand gesture again. "And he never would have gotten it into his head to befriend a dragon, and so we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

"What a blessed alternate world that would be," Gobber sighed. Stoick smirked under his beard and jostled the blacksmith with his elbow. Being over seven feet tall and about three hundred pounds of pure muscle, this was no light matter, but luckily Gobber himself was of sufficient mass to absorb the blow with no more than a winded "oof!"

"Val was smart," Gobber finally said, massaging his abdomen with his good hand. "I think she'd see that dragons could be good for Berk. Look at Osmund, I taught him how to pull a plow! With his help, we can plant three times as much as when we used an ox for the same job!" he exclaimed enthusiastically, referring to the Boneknapper with which he had bonded after years of playing cat-and-mouse.

"Yes, but only if we can train those Terrors and Gronckles to stop digging up the fields again afterwards," Stoick stated matter-of-factly.

"That doesn't prove that dragons are bad for Berk, just that it will take some adjusting," countered Gobber.

"Do you really think a family that's lost a father or a brother or a son in a dragon attack is going to want _Osmund_-_" _here Stoick snorted derisively at Gobber's choice of name for the colossal skeletal beast, before finishing his sentence "-want _Osmund_, of all creatures, pulling a plow for their fields?"

"They will if they want a decent harvest before the Freeze sets in," Gobber retorted sullenly. "And they're good at scaring fish so that we can nab them with our nets, as long as we give them some of the spoils."

"I'm just saying, not everyone thinks dragons are going to improve village life, and after our history with dragons, I can't blame them. Yes, they're just beasts, and maybe they didn't know what they were doing when they were under the thrall of that wretched excuse for a giant garden snake. But if it were an enemy _human _tribe, there's not a chance in Helheim that we'd want them plowing our fields and catching our fish."

"Holmgeirr's been grumbling to you again, hasn't he," Gobber said, shaking his head knowingly.

Stoick arched an eyebrow. "Yes, actually. But even so, he can be a brute about a lot of things, but I won't say he's totally off-base here. He's not the only one who has a problem with dragons in the village, he's just the only one with the balls to say it so crassly to my face. Except for you, of course."

"I earned that privilege. He just does it because he's your cousin and he's colossal. Holmgeirr the Broad, indeed."

"Yes, but so what? As chief, I need to be sensitive to what's going on and what's being said in my village. If I wasn't hearing these things, I'd get concerned that a mutiny was on my hands," Stoick explained, gesturing animatedly as though his words would penetrate Gobber's comprehension better if he wafted them in his direction.

"But doesn't it bother yeh at all that he's second-guessing your choices in public, especially knowing that a dragon saved yer son's life? In fact, he saved all our lives if yeh think about it - if Hiccup and Toothless had failed, there's not a doubt in me mind that we'd be having this conversation sitting in that monster's belly, assuming those teeth didn't grind us up too badly first."

Stoick looked pensive. With him sitting casually on the ground while the light deepened redly over him and caused his great beard to be cast into partial shadow, he looked almost like some ancient philosopher.

"I won't say I'm thrilled," the chief finally responded, tugging on his beard and twirling the bushy hairs around a thick finger. "But that's how village politics work. It's impossible to satisfy everyone, and sometimes people will question a decision. Loudly, as it happens." Stoick let out a crashing sigh. "In some ways, I almost miss dragon aggression...at least when they were attacking, the village was united against an external foe. With the dragons no longer our enemy, there's more time for internal tensions in Berk to fester, and it's starting to make me uneasy."

Gobber looked scandalized. "There's still plenty we need to be doing to keep this village alive without people looking for excuses to snarl at each other."

"We're Vikings," Stoick patiently explained. "The lust for battle sings in our veins. If we can't fight dragons, we fight each other. You never know - maybe the Hall of Valhalla has a small side room set aside for warriors who die during petty arguments instead of falling in glorious battle."

"Right, and yeh can be sure all the ugly Valkyries who were too homely to score work in Odin's Halls will be the ones tending that room," Gobber griped.

Stoick eyed Gobber impassively before letting out a bark of laughter.

Gobber grinned toothily. "By Freya's beautiful bouncing bosom, it's been a while since yeh've laughed like that!"

Stoick shrugged. "It's been a while since you've said anything funny."

The blacksmith looked put out. "I'm both charming and hilarious and I'll bludgeon anyone who says otherwise."

"See, Vikings need to fight _something_ or we get testier than a bear in a trap," Stoick said smugly.

"And yeh think fighting for the sake of fighting is wise, do yeh?" Gobber sniped testily.

"Why should you complain when you're the one who gets commissioned to make the weapons? Half your livelihood comes out of conflict."

Gobber shrugged. "I can appreciate the artistry of a weapon without feelin' the need to use it all the time."

Stoick let out another booming sigh. "I don't know what I think anymore," he muttered. "We've gotten so complacent about fighting as a necessity for survival because _we've_ been the ones under attack. This was no silly quarrel over who owns what chunk of land or who should be king; if we didn't fight back, we'd have been wiped out for sure - if not eaten ourselves, our food and livelihood would have been depleted and we'd have starved."

"So what are yeh saying?" Gobber queried distractedly, frowning as he noticed a loose fastening on his peg-leg. He cocked an ear to listen to Stoick as the chief carried on speaking while he desperately attempted to fiddle the fastening back into place.

"Just that after tasting peace, I'm not sure whether it would be right for us to start being aggressors simply because we're bored. What are we supposed to do, seek out another tribe to skirmish with just so our blades don't get rusty? And yet...we're _Vikings. _It's what we _do_. It never would have bothered me before, since we were the victims and we _had_ to fight back. But we're so far from the rest of civilization and we've been at the brink of utter extinction so many times...And so I don't know if I can justify demolishing some other little village eking out its meagre existence just for the sake of pre-conceived notions of mandatory bloodlust."

Gobber finally nudged the fastening back into place, making a mental note to tinker with it properly when he returned to his own home. He looked up, eyeing Stoick with visible esteem.

"Aren't we philosophical with all those fancy words, hmm? First of all, yeh'd feel better about it if yeh ransacked a palace and not some little shithole of a village. Or if they attacked first, then yeh wouldn't feel bad. If yer goin' to pillage, do it right. But I digress." Gobber paused with his tongue poking out through his lips, a habit he often did unconsciously when he was searching for the best way to phrase his thoughts.

"Yeh know, a lesser man would just keep plundering and killin' for the sake of tradition; they'd find comfort in knowing that blood will always spurt the same way no matter what life throws at 'im. But I think it takes a great chief to observe when the world is changin' around him, and to question and react to it. There're lots of niches to fill when killin' dragons isn't daily fare, to be sure, but who says that void has to be filled with more killin'?"

Stoick chuckled. "For some reason, you just reminded me of Hiccup. Back when he was just starting Dragon Training, I remember him coming to me in a panic because he thought he couldn't kill dragons. I don't know if this was after he met the Night Fury and was trying to protect it or if he was just feeling nervous about heading into the Ring for the first time. But he was trying to convince me that there was a surplus of fighting Vikings, and that we needed more bread-making Vikings or small home repair Vikings..."

"I always knew that boy was ahead of his time," Gobber chortled appreciatively.

"Aye," Stoick agreed, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "I don't know what I was expecting after the incident with the Red Death. He showed so much spunk, I guess I thought it was the motivation he needed to be more of a real Viking; I thought it would change him. But he's just as different as ever. Though if our world is changing, maybe I shouldn't worry about how different he is from the rest of us - maybe when he becomes chief, his peculiarities will be the thing that gives Berk the edge it needs to survive."

"I certainly hope so, or yer many Hiccup-Headaches will have been for nothing," Gobber smirked.

Stoick massaged his temples, his eyes still closed. "By Freyr's flying boar, I wish that he were here giving me a headache right now instead of missing. I can withstand a lot, but waiting indefinitely without knowing makes me feel so damnably helpless. I can't say I'm used to the feeling. With Rammi, I didn't have to wait so long to find out she had...passed. "

"Hold on now, yeh don't know if that's the case here-" Gobber started to say before he trailed off, seeing a figure rushing towards him and Stoick. "Who's that?" he squinted, trying to make out the figure's features in the failing light.

Beside him, Stoick opened his eyes and leaned forward before getting to his feet with a mighty grunt. "I'm gettin' old," he complained.

"Stoick, there yeh are!" the figure exclaimed upon arriving, wheezing from his run. Up close, Stoick recognized the squat body and bearded but earnest face of Hoark the Haggard.

"I guess yeh haven't heard, then?" Hoark queried before doubling over. At first Stoick thought the excitable Viking was about to be ill, but then he saw Hoark straighten up and cough up a massive wad of phlegm, which he managed to expel an impressive distance. "Ach, I could feel that one rattling around me lungs," Hoark grunted contentedly.

"What haven't I heard?" Stoick prompted Hoark gently. He knew that given half a chance, Hoark would spend the next half-hour happily discussing the way different activities affected the contents of his bodily cavities before remembering why he had been rushing to find Stoick in the first place.

"Or maybe yeh heard first and that's why yer waiting outside..."

"Spit it out, Hoark," Stoick commanded in his best Chief Voice.

Hoark looked confused. "I already did. But I'm sure I could manage another good one..." He drew his head back, preparing to dislodge further solidified sputum. Gobber rolled his eyes, smacking his forehead with the palm of his good hand.

"He means tell us yer news, yeh half-witted son of a brain-damaged newt! And don't be sharing any more of yer bodily fluids, now, either!" Gobber roared.

"Right, I knew that," Hoark quivered, taking a quick step back from the seething blacksmith. He turned to Stoick, putting the burly chief between him and Gobber.

"Just thought yeh'd like to know that Hiccup and Toothless have been spotted comin' in. Borghildr's lad was tying a boat at the docks and saw 'em."

Stoick was glad that his tunic covered his legs, as he felt his knees go slightly weak for a moment. He exchanged a glance with Gobber, who wore a visibly brighter expression.

"Thank the gods," Stoick breathed.

"Shall we go meet him at the harbour, then?" Gobber inquired.

Stoick laughed gruffly. "Give me a moment to feel relieved. Then we'll go meet him, and damned if that boy won't be deaf after I tear into him for leaving that long without saying a word."

* * *

"I'm glad that you thought to snag Ruffnut's lunch, though I kind of wish she had packed more apples," Hiccup said appreciatively as he rifled through the purloined leather sack. Then he remembered that Toothless would understand more easily if he projected the thought mentally, and he carefully did so, attempting to form mental pictures for the Night Fury's benefit. Although he kept picturing a mostly nude Ruffnut decorated with the tattoo she had described, he thought Toothless got the idea.

_'I really need to get that image out of my head,'_ Hiccup grimaced to himself.

Hiccup was not completely sure how long they had spent underwater in the Yggdrasil grotto; the inky blackness of the impenetrable sea did not allow for the passage of light or the measurement of time. But he did know that enough time had passed for him to be utterly ravenous, and so he was glad for Toothless' little bout of thievery before their trip.

After the Norns had deemed the deed to be done and allowed Hiccup to re-clothe himself - with much sniggering from Urd, much to Hiccup's chagrin - Toothless had summoned the giant Scauldron to bring them back to the surface. Hiccup had learned that it was called the Gateswimmer and that it was a distant relation to Jormungandr the Midgard Serpent. But despite both this prestigious pedigree and the real life confirmation of mythological figures, he much preferred flying on Toothless' back to being carried in the mouth of a legendary sea serpent. At least the journey had been somewhat less harrowing now that he knew what to expect.

The Gateswimmer had deposited them at the same grouping of rocky pedestals from which they had departed. It was not a very large or comfortable place to stay for any length of time, but Hiccup did not think he could last the whole journey back to Berk without stopping to eat. In compromise, he and Toothless had flown part of the way back before finding a small craggy islet that was spacious enough for them to picnic comfortably. Hiccup was convinced they must have been underwater for at least a day, as the quality of light suggested that it was early morning now, and it had been mid-afternoon by the time they had arrived at the Gateswimmer's rendez-vous point.

Toothless skimmed the surface of the sea in several deadly strikes, each time collecting some fish for his own repast while Hiccup gorged himself on Ruffnut's lunch. _'Does she eat this much _everyday_?'_ Hiccup thought to himself, feeling lethargic and indolent after consuming the heavy food so quickly. The female twin could definitely use some more fruit and vegetables in her diet, he thought, and he felt somewhat queasy that she had been planning to eat a whole cooked chicken by herself in addition to several loaves of thick bread coupled with two wheels of hard cheese. Even though Hiccup felt stuffed, the bulk of Ruffnut's food was still untouched. He drank sparingly from her water-skin, not knowing how long he would need it to last.

He idly wondered how the Zippleback tattoo would look on her body if Ruffnut were to become really fat - would the dragon's image stretch out as well? Hiccup made a horrified face, both at the vision itself and the fact that he was even thinking about it at all. _'I really, REALLY need to get that image out of my head.'_ Judging by the look Toothless was giving him, the dragon had glimpsed the mental image and wholeheartedly agreed.

_/strange/_ The Night Fury shot at him.

_\I know, sorry.\_ Hiccup thought back_._ He assumed Toothless was talking about the obese Ruffnut vision, though it was just as possible that the concept of tattoos was what was puzzling the dragon. In the short time that he and Toothless had been communicating mind to mind, it was becoming increasingly evident that despite the substantiation of draconic sentience, there was a relatively large division between cultures that hampered the comprehension of certain concepts on both their sides.

For instance, Hiccup had not anticipated that Toothless had his own name. The first time he had addressed the Night Fury as "Toothless," the dragon had bristled, taking the moniker as an insult. As it turned out, male dragons were extremely touchy about the size of their teeth and claws as symbols of their strength, prowess, and general attractiveness for females looking to mate. Hiccup learned that other dragons called the Night Fury 'Nightshade,' and looking at the sleek deadly lines of the midnight creature, Hiccup could see why. Even so, Hiccup found he was having a hard time breaking himself of the habit of thinking of the dragon as "Toothless." The name had long ago ceased to be an ironic observation of the Night Fury's retractable fangs and simply constituted two warm syllables that bloomed comfortingly in his mind whenever he thought about his closest friend.

Hiccup supposed he should have realized that if dragons were intelligent, there was no reason why they would not have their own names for each other. But he was rather amused when he found out what Toothless - no, Nightshade - had been privately calling him. _Deftclaw._ He regarded his fingers and flexed them, marvelling at the dexterity that he had taken for granted but which Toothless - no, Nightshade - had decreed was one of his most notable attributes.

In fact, Hiccup had almost felt a little weepy when he saw how much the gift of his fabricated tail fin had touched the dragon. Even after all this time and all the evidence to the contrary, Hiccup realized he had been harbouring a secret, unconscious fear that his love and affection for the Night Fury may have been one-sided. The confirmation from Toothless - no, Nightshade - that this was not so was enough to keep him smiling nonstop. There is always a difference between knowing someone loves you and hearing it from their own mouth; Hiccup knew this was true from his experiences with his father, but was ecstatic to see it come from this unexpected quarter as well.

For his own part, Toothless-Nightshade, as Hiccup had started thinking of the dragon, seemed to have just as many difficulties adjusting to Hiccup's given name. He kept inquiring why his clan would want to name him after awkward noisy lung discharges and did not buy into the logic of hideous names scaring away gnomes and trolls.

_/if troll has time to find out name, already dead/_ Toothless-Nightshade observed.

_\I've never actually met a troll, come to think of it.\_ Hiccup mused.

_/maybe troll does not like name after all/ _Toothless-Nightshade replied. Did dragons have sarcasm? Hiccup certainly thought he detected a smidgeon of it.

Despite the difficulties presented by their mutual instances of culture shock, Hiccup was revelling in their newly found mental communication. Although it was different than using the pictographic lexicon, it was not necessarily easier. Thought was quicker than writing or rifling through sheets of parchment, but it took a decent amount of concentration and focus to convey anything he wanted to say - it was not mind-reading so much as mind-shouting.

On the other hand, when Hiccup had been relying on the lexicon, his level of communication with Toothless-Nightshade depended both on how accurate his drawings were and on how well he was able to combine them into coherent concepts. Holding a mental picture of an elk roasting over a spit compared with a Viking throwing up after eating raw meat to demonstrate the concept of cooked food was much easier than trying to illustrate the same ideas by hand.

Moreover, Hiccup was finding himself increasingly excited as he gained insight into Toothless-Nightshade's mind. It was not just that he was the first human to be getting this kind of intimate data about another sentient species, although this did thrill his inquisitive side. But for so long, whenever he rambled out loud to Toothless-Nightshade, he had never expected a reply. Despite this, he had a habit of talking out loud to the dragon quite a bit, because if he did not talk to _someone_, he would have gone mad from the perpetual semi-silence that accompanied his feeling like an outcast amongst his tribe. But for once, when he had something to say to his best friend - whether in idleness or sincerity - he would not be presented with more silence but with a legitimate response.

The sound of the dragon's voice rolling around his mind was utterly fascinating to Hiccup. In some ways it felt right, like his relationship with the Night Fury had transcended some impossible level and penetrated physical barriers into conscious thought. Hiccup could not think of any human being with whom such a relationship was possible. He certainly liked Astrid, but he was not sure how he would feel about mentally communicating with her; he had a jittery feeling of unease that she would be able to probe his inner recesses beyond his comfort zone. When her brazenness or aloofness had hurt him before, he had always been able to retreat into his own mind, but he did not think such a retreat would be possible with Astrid sifting through his more private thoughts.

With Toothless-Nightshade, Hiccup did not get this sense. He felt safe, like the Night Fury's presence at the back of his mind offered a sense of security and warmth. Hiccup was not aware of a desire to probe so much as a curiosity to learn at a comfortable pace all about this scrawny human who had become his unlikely companion. But while the dragon's voice rumbling through his skull had positive associations, there was also something inescapably alien about it. Perhaps it was because dragons relied on scent just as much as language to communicate, but there was something stilted in the way the dragon formed phrases to send to Hiccup, as though he was unused to presenting his thoughts formally and was missing several key components of speech to do so. There was something reptilian and halting about the voice reverberating through his head, and if Toothless-Nightshade were not already a familiar presence in his life, Hiccup thought that the dragon's mental voice would have made him apprehensive.

_/done eating?/ _Toothless-Nightshade inquired, rustling his wings.

_\I think so. Sorry to keep you waiting, Toothshade. I mean, Nightless. Er...\_

If the Night Fury had eyebrows, Hiccup was sure they would be arched.

_\Sorry, I'm not trying to insult you, I swear! I've just been thinking of you as "Toothless" for so long, it's hard for me to break the habit. Your teeth look perfectly present and pointy and mate-able.\_

The hissing sound of reptilian chuckles filled Hiccup's thoughts.

_/know you mean no insult. starting to like this name, "Toothless." all dragon names sound same, formulaic, majestic - sometimes falsely so. other dragons, they may call me dragon name. you, my heart friend, you may call me private name, sign of friendship/_

Hiccup felt strangely emotional at the Night Fury's genial permissiveness. If he had known this moment was coming back when he had first encountered Toothless-Nightshade, he would have put more thought into the dragon's name.

_ \Thank you, Nightshade. I mean, Toothless. Maybe I should call you Toothshade, that way it combines your true name with my name for you.\_

Toothless-Nightshade bowed his head and nudged Hiccup's hand.

_/should call you Hicclaw? not normal dragon names, not human either. way we talk, dragon and twolegs together, something new. so maybe new names. special names, just us two/_

_ \Maybe just on special occasions, that way they don't lose their uniqueness.\ _Hiccup joked.

_/not understand/_ the Night Fury blinked.

_\Never mind, don't worry,\_ Hiccup assured hastily, feeling elated both that the dragon had given him the equivalent of a nickname and that he could continue thinking of the Night Fury as "Toothless" without feeling like he was betraying the dragon's true self. In fact, he felt rather relieved since the syllables of the new name mixing with the old persisted on twisting up his mental tongue.

Stifling a yawn, Hiccup packed up the remnants of his pilfered lunch. The early morning light had given way to a scorching afternoon sun that made the freshness of the day before seem like ages ago. The sky was so dazzlingly blue that it almost seemed like the white-yellow orb was burning all the clouds out of the heavens. With the clear sea water brightly reflecting the sun tenfold at the pair on their isolated islet, Hiccup was feeling hot and sleepy. The food had settled heavily in his stomach, and he felt disinclined to move except in order to shrug off his fur vest and roll up the sleeves of his tunic to keep from sweltering in the unexpected heat.

Beside him, Toothless shifted minutely with his jade eyes lightly closed, sunning himself on the rocks. Hiccup tentatively placed a hand against the dragon's onyx flank. It had the same texture of supple, new leather to which Hiccup was accustomed, though it was radiating the absorbed warmth of the sun. It felt pleasant against Hiccup's touch, and he sighed, his own eyelids fluttering. If it had been at least a day since he had eaten, it had been more than that long since he had slept. He knew he ought to get back to Berk soon, but he was just so warm and comfortable and sleepy...

His spring green eyes closing, Hiccup nestled back against Toothless' side, his head lolling onto the dragon's shoulder blade. The Night Fury's back leg twitched, already in the throes of some draconic dream.

Hiccup awoke with a shiver several hours later. The warmth of the afternoon had dissolved into a frosty evening, his breath misting out in front of him like a poor excuse for a ghost. Although the sun had dipped beyond the horizon, there was a still faint rosy glow shot with gold kissing the intangible area where the skies met the sea. Teeth clacking, Hiccup fumbled around for his fur vest.

Toothless stirred beside him, the claws on his forelegs retracting in and out as he stretched like a cat roused from a sixteen hour nap. He whisked his tail back and forth as he eyed Hiccup scrambling to put on his vest.

_/why always add and remove soft coloured scales?/_

"What?" Hiccup asked distractedly, saying it aloud out of habit. "I mean..." _\What?\_

The dragon caught the sleeve of Hiccup's green tunic gently in his teeth and tugged. _/colourful soft scales. or shell? feels funny/_

"Ahh," Hiccup intoned in sudden understanding. _\This is clothing. Humans wear it so we don't get cold.\_

_ /why?/_ Toothless queried.

_\Because we don't have a tough hide to protect us from the weather.\_ Hiccup explained patiently. _\So we make coverings out of other materials, like wool, fur, or skins. When it's cold out, we need more to cover us or we freeze. When it's warm, we don't need as much to cover us.\_

_ /yes, understand. humans shedding/ _Toothless projected in a knowledgeable tone.

Hiccup chortled. _\Not exactly. We can put them on or take them off whenever we want.\ _Toothless seemed puzzled at this.

_/warm before, humans still have clothing scales. why?/_

Hiccup felt uncomfortable, realizing too late that despite their sentience, dragons had no sense of bodily modesty. And why should they? They went around in nothing but their skins and were none the worse for wear. A brief image of Toothless wearing a red felt vest flitted across Hiccup's mental eye, and he chuckled at the silliness of it.

_\Well, it's easier for humans to get cold because our hides aren't very thick, so we often keep at least one layer on. Also, you've probably noticed that human skin is more delicate than dragon skin?\_

_ /bleed easy/_ Toothless acceded.

_\Exactly. Well, clothing helps protect our skin from being injured.\ _Hiccup paused, pondering how best to explain the concept of nudity to a creature that consistently existed in a natural, uncovered state. _\Also, humans can be kind of shy. We don't like to be completely uncovered most of the time, because we get embarrassed.\_

Toothless seemed thoughtful. _/stay covered for mating? holes in clothing scales for this?/_

_ \Err...humans usually take off their clothes for mating.\_

_ /not embarrassed then?/_

_ \Sometimes.\ _Hiccup projected miserably, thinking of Astrid.

_/why embarrassed?/_

_ \It's hard to explain.\_ Hiccup said, amused at the dragon's inquisitiveness. He had a sudden flash of insight of what it had been like for his parents when he bombarded them with questions in his younger days; curiosity was clearly a trait he had in common with the Night Fury.

_\What about you? Did you have a mate before you came to Berk?\_ Hiccup asked in turn.

More reptilian hissing signifying laughter resounded in Hiccup's mind. _/too young now. maybe in couple hundred years. besides, not knowing many female dragons like me/_

_ \Do you want a mate?\ _Hiccup queried.

_/later/_ The Night Fury responded, still exuding an amused tone.

_\If you don't have a mate, what about a family?\_ Hiccup inquired, guiltily aware that if Toothless _did_ have a family, he had been separated from them for a little less than a year. Had Toothless resented his time on Berk when he could have been trying to get home?

Toothless waited a while before answering. _/no family/_

Hiccup raised his hand as though to comfort the dragon, but let it fall to his side instead. _\I'm sorry, I didn't know. What happened?\_

_ /sire eaten by Plague Breath. tried to gather kin against her in early days, Plague Breath not happy about this/_

_ \Plague Breath?\ _Hiccup asked in bewilderment.

Toothless made a thoughtful grunt out loud and swished his tail. _/dead now. fought her, us two. lost leg, remember? humans have another name perhaps/_

_ \Right, of course. We call her the Red Death.\ _Hiccup recalled.

_/Red Death.../_ Toothless said, as though tasting the effect of the words. _/sound almost like real dragon name. not as accurate, though not bad/_

_ \What about your mother?\ _Hiccup asked gently.

Toothless was quiet again. _/not know what happen to dam. heard rumours that kin with Plague Breath voice inside them hunted her out of skies. not know for certain. only fledgling at time/_

_ \But why would the Red Death - I mean, Plague Breath - be interested in hunting your parents?\ _

_ /Plague Breath not like opposition. certain kin, like my kind, though others too, resist Plague Breath. would not hunt for her, or angry when her breath poisoned their food. Plague Breath punished them/_

_ \That's horrible!\_ Hiccup exclaimed.

_/you have no dam either/_ Toothless reminded the auburn-haired Viking.

\_Well, no, but at least I know she is gone for certain. I don't have to wonder about it.\_

_ /no dam is no dam. not worse for me/_

Hiccup thought about arguing, but he could see the wisdom of the dragon's words. Growing up without a mother was difficult no matter the surrounding circumstances.

_ /wish Plague Breath did not hunt them, though. dragons should die naturally, unbalanced otherwise/_

_ \What do you mean?\ _Hiccup asked uneasily, thinking of all the times he and his ancestors had slaughtered the winged beasts; he hardly thought that counted as a natural death.

_/dying dragons need time to summon Gateswimmer. otherwise cannot go deep under earth to feed Yggdrasil's roots/_

_ \And that's more balanced? Acting as compost for the Tree of Life? I have to say, I think I prefer Valhalla to the dragon version of the afterlife.\_

_ /first dragon, Nidhoggr, always chewing on roots, wanting to topple Yggdrasil. wants chaos. Odin say: dragons that come after pay his penance. when dragons die, go back into earth and feed Tree, restitution/_

Hiccup was silent for a moment. _\I guess that is balance. But it seems unfair that you give up your afterlife because of something another dragon did.\_

Toothless gave the dragon equivalent of a shrug as though to say "that's life." _/some would be jealous, to be part of World Tree this way/_

_ \I guess.\_ Hiccup agreed half-heartedly, though he was not fully convinced by Toothless' fatalistic view.

_ \Well, that's a long way from now, anyways.\_ Hiccup exclaimed with false cheerfulness.

The boy and the dragon sat side by side on their islet, silently watching the colours seep out of the sky. The sea breeze cut sharply in the falling twilight as the purplish sky deepened to the colour of a fresh bruise. Although Hiccup trusted Toothless' homing instincts, he did not think it would be wise to try and make it the rest of the way to Berk that night. Although he had enjoyed the occasional night flight around the island, Berk was illuminated with torches that at least revealed the silhouettes of various objects, if not their details. Here, the moon had not yet risen, and Hiccup did not relish the sensation of zipping through frigid air in an expansive void of pitch black skies and seas.

_/yes, go back at morning light/_ Toothless said.

Hiccup flushed, embarrassed that he had been broadcasting his thoughts loud enough for the dragon to hear. _'I'd better be more careful with this whole 'mind-shouting' thing.'_ If he admitted it to himself, he was also relieved that the Night Fury agreed with this line of action.

Shivering, Hiccup snatched a half-eaten loaf of bread from Ruffnut's sack and huddled deeper into the warmth of his fur vest as he gnawed on it. His back felt suddenly cold as Toothless slithered away and dived into the sea, searching for dinner of his own. In the darkness, Hiccup could not see how successful the Night Fury was, though he could hear wild splashing. Several minutes later, the dragon clambered back onto the rocky isle with a mouthful of fish, dripping wet. Hiccup instinctively shied away from the rain of icy drops as the Night Fury shook himself dry.

Toothless paid him no mind. Moving several feet away, he circled a patch of ground, deluging it with a series of firebolts. Apparently satisfied, the Night Fury rolled around on his patch of warm rock, letting out a blissful snort.

_/clothing scales warm enough?/_

_ \Er, they could be better.\ _

_ /come/ _the dragon invited.

Dragging the lunch sack behind him, Hiccup crawled over to Toothless on his hands and knees. His fingertips could easily make out where the Night Fury had blasted the rock; it was hot to the touch, and he could feel a fine layer of powder that had been scorched right off the surface of the islet. Nestling under Toothless' wing joint, Hiccup felt a warm sensation in his belly as the dragon draped his membranous wing over him like an obsidian blanket. A year ago, if Hiccup had known he would be spending a night trapped on an isolated rock in the middle of the sea accompanied only by a Night Fury, he would have been paralysed in a rictus of sheer terror. Now, he felt impossibly safe and strangely content. For all the dreariness of the spot, there was no one with whom he'd rather be, especially now that previously forbidden channels of communication were open to them.

His stomach full of bread and his senses lulled by the combined heat of Toothless' body and the scorched patch of ground, Hiccup was feeling rather drowsy. With a faint smile, he reflected on his conversations with Toothless. All of a sudden, a question presented itself in his head and he became aware of tightening sensation in his chest. He was afraid to ask the question because he was terrified of the answer, but nonetheless, Hiccup felt that despite himself he needed to hear the answer very badly.

_\Hey, Toothless...?\_ Hiccup began reluctantly.

_/yes Hicclaw?/ _the dragon replied.

At hearing the affectionate tone and the nickname, Hiccup felt his resolve weakening and a stronger urge to break down surfacing. He struggled for a moment, and then continued.

_\I was just wondering...since the Red Death - I mean, Plague Breath - is gone now, and your kind are no longer hunted for opposing her, does that mean that you're going to seek out a proper dragon colony now? I mean, nothing is stopping you now. You could re-populate your species safely.\_

Toothless sounded hurt. _/want me to leave?/_

_ \No, no, of course not!\_ exclaimed Hiccup. _\I just thought...that with Plague Breath gone, and things going back to normal for the dragons under her control, that maybe that was something that you wanted.\_

_ /cannot fly without you/_

Hiccup had heard the expression of having one's heart "sink" before, but never until this moment had he experienced the sensation of a hotly bitter knot of pain sliding down into his stomach with such intensity.

"Oh," he said softly. Of course. _Necessity _kept him close, not affection.

Toothless made a clicking noise with his tongue against his teeth. _/typical twolegs, not waiting until finished speaking. do not _want_ to fly without you. not needing another colony. another dragon would not have helped me fly again. home is here. home with Hicclaw/_

As suddenly and as intensely as Hiccup's heart had sunk, an equally powerful burst of warmth bloomed in his core and spread throughout his body. _'Vikings don't cry. Vikings are not sensitive. Vikings don't cry, Vikings don't cry,'_ Hiccup repeated as a mantra.

What the other Vikings did not know would not hurt them.

After recovering, Hiccup could feel deep in his body how drained he was. He nestled deeper under Toothless' wing and sighed. What a day. Or had it been two? _'We really should get back to Berk soon, or Dad is going to get really worried.' _Hiccup estimated that depending on what time they awoke and departed from the islet and whether they stopped to eat, they would arrive back at Berk anywhere between mid-afternoon and late evening.

Hearing Toothless' snuffling snores beside him, Hiccup began to drowse. A smile still faintly outlined his lips, although for a brief instant Hiccup's teeth clenched just before he dropped off. This had been one of the most amazing days of his life, and yet - and yet, things seemed almost too good to be true. Why was he not feeling any ill effects yet? Was he not he supposed to be paying a price for this gift?

Moments later, those niggling doubts were buried by other half-formed thoughts as Hiccup drifted at last into unconsciousness.

* * *

After hatching, there are certain things a hatchling will already know innately. The most basic of this intrinsic wisdom is a rudimentary knowledge of the dam and her abilities. Some hatchlings go above and beyond this and are cognizant about more complex dynamics, depending on the location of the egg and the permeability of the shell.

For instance, the strong male hatchling knew he was the spawn of an ancient force called Plague Breath, and that in addition to the usual fangs, claws, and firepower, his mother had the unique power to bend others to her will. The male hatchling also knew that his mother had been murdered. He had felt the keening of her death cry reverberate in his egg and down to his very bones.

In her honour, he had even started to think of himself as the Plagueling. This was unusual, as dragons must not name themselves. It is a sin, for to name oneself is to falsely bestow undeserved abilities or traits on oneself. Dragons are communal beings, and protocol must be observed. In the Plagueling's defence, without a mother or a colony to observe, there was no way he could know these things.

It is probable that the Plagueling would not have cared about naming rituals even if he had known about them. The universal rule of having a mother had already been violated; all other rules were fair game.

Another thing the Plagueling knew was that he was strong. This was not innate knowledge so much as insight gained from experience. He must be strong, or how else could he have managed to defeat his siblings? They had been such pitiful things. If they were just going to tremble in the debris of their broken eggs, well, they had deserved to be eaten.

He had even eaten the mortified eggs. They tasted stale, and with another flash of insight he knew that any flesh that has tasted of life would automatically be sweeter than these stillborn siblings. Well, what was done was done.

The last thing that the Plagueling knew was that he was still achingly, ravenously, hungry.

* * *

**Author's notes:** I had actually planned to include an additional section in this chapter, but it was getting to be rather long, and so I stopped at what seemed like a logical break.

I also want to comment on the way Toothless talks in this chapter, as compared to the way his thoughts were composed in the previous chapter. In chapter three, I wanted to give direct accessibility to Toothless' thoughts; the second half of this chapter is from Hiccup's perspective, and so I wanted to demonstrate how he perceived Toothless' speech rather than the direct intentions of Toothless himself. So basically, we see Toothless expressing himself, but only through the filter of Hiccup's understanding. In my mind, Toothless' voice would not sound exactly human, and so as a dragon he is not constrained by the same rules of grammar and punctuation by which a human like Hiccup would compose their thoughts. I hope this is clear and that it comes across at least a little bit.

Anyways, please take the time to review and let me know your thoughts on this chapter :)


	5. Meals and Mutters

**To Be God-Touched  
**By Celestra (El S)  
September-December 2012

**Author's Notes:** I'm terribly sorry about the great wait between this chapter and the last - I've been quite busy with work, school, and helping to organize a bridal shower. Nonetheless, thanks to everyone for the reviews and continued support! I'm glad you've been enjoying reading this story as much as I have been enjoying writing it.

Once again, although I have attempted to keep any historical details accurate, I've had to make creative decisions based on my research. As always, I hope this is not too problematic and that it does not detract overmuch from the story.

* * *

**Chapter Five  
**Meals and Mutters

Although it sounded terribly cocky when she said it out loud, Astrid was used to a certain degree of success in everything that she undertook. Some things she was just naturally good at; her father, Pusguts, had noticed a propensity for nimble footwork almost as soon as she had learned to toddle without falling on her rump every few steps. Frustrated that she kept weaving around him and getting underfoot, Pusguts had set her to applying it to swordplay as soon he thought it was safe for her to hold a weapon. She had been three.

For the things in which Astrid was not naturally skilled, she relished the challenge, driving herself to succeed through sheer determination and drilling herself stringently until she could perform them flawlessly. There were a number of trees in Berk's forests that bore the marks of her axe, and if one cared to observe the patterns made in the scarred wood, one would see that though the marks started out in a random spread, they gradually grew closer and closer together as her strength and accuracy improved. Some trees contained only deep gouges in the centre of the trunk, evidence that she could hit the same spot again and again.

Astrid had always been confident that she could achieve anything to which she put her mind, since everything she had ever tried she had mastered, though admittedly some faster than others. She had assumed that if she ever cared to turn her hand to domestic tasks, she would be just as successful there as in soldiery. This attitude was making it very difficult for her to accept that she was just no good at dealing with men romantically. That was not to say that any desires to be a manipulative seductress had been foiled; just that she had presumed dealing with men would be as simple as archery: you pick a target, shoot, and kill it. With love.

Not that love had much to do with anything, at this stage. And not that Astrid was trying to seduce Hiccup, by any means. But it would be nice if she could figure out how to talk to him at least once without being overwhelmed by a surge of panic because of that damned betrothal hanging over her head. Granted, her father had not spoken of it to her in all this time, which was surely a sign that it was not particularly imminent. But the phantom of its possibility lurking at the back of her mind was tainting every encounter she had had with the auburn-haired Viking since he had returned from his three-day jaunt with Toothless two weeks ago.

Astrid felt like she had transformed into a strange, over-analytical fiend. _'Does he know?' _she kept asking herself, his every gesture seemingly pregnant with veiled meaning. _'What does he think about it?' _She had unnerved Hiccup more than once when he discovered her persistently squinting at him from several feet away, determinedly scrutinizing him in order to catch him out.

No, it was not seduction that was difficult. Or maybe it was - Astrid had yet to attempt such a feat, though there was time enough for that later. But more than anything, Astrid was finding it hard to formulate any sort of romantic thought into a viable form of expression. She had never had this same level of trouble talking to Hiccup before he had become a romantic prospect. But now that he was considered a suitor - a _suitor_, for Frigg's sake! - she was finding herself incapable of speaking to him like a normal human being. And gauging compatibility with someone when all your conversations with them were stilted or awkward was starting to seem like an impossible task. This was not something she could drill, like swordplay or knife-throwing. _'After all, how do you practise feelings? How do you practise _marriage_ without the other person knowing?'_

The perplexed shield maiden was currently resting with Stormfly on one of the stone Guardian Pillars that dotted the sea surrounding Berk, having been practising aerial maneuvers all morning. The brilliant gold and azure scales of the Deadly Nadder were the brightest objects in the immediate vicinity, for the morning mists that usually decorated Berk had decided not to burn off, draping the island in a wispy grey cloak and lending a steely, desaturated quality to the afternoon.

Astrid found it difficult to sit still without fidgeting; a lifetime ago she would have berated herself for wasting idle moments when she should have been honing her abilities. Out of habit, she had drawn her dagger and was fiddling with it, though not with any apparent goal towards self-improvement. Instead, she contented herself with slivering flakes of rock off the Guardian's head and seeing how far she could hurl them into the sea. Life had been so much simpler, once.

Astrid knew that a number of Berk's young men thought she was pretty. When she was younger, she thought that was half the battle - if you liked someone or they liked you, some vague bodily chemistry would make everything work out, and _poof!_, you would get married. She had not counted on pesky factors like conflicting personalities or the possibility that dealing with men was not like archery, after all.

Despite the complimentary assessment of her superficial appearance, Astrid also knew that some Viking men were intimidated by shield maidens, preferring a sense of domination over partnership. She had heard grumblings before that however she looked, she was not feminine enough in her habits. This had never bothered her overmuch before, but now Astrid was feeling resentful about it. _'It's not that I don't _want_ to be girly or feminine, but whenever I try to act that way, it just doesn't feel like _me_. I don't see why it's not "ladylike" to be tough.'_

Astrid had always felt so sure of herself before, but against her volition, doubts were beginning to creep up on her. Would Hiccup prefer it if she were more docile and challenged him less? And then a surly prickle of rage would flare within her, because who was Hiccup, really, to expect her to change for him?!

For the umpteenth time, Astrid wondered how much the impending betrothal was really to blame here. She would be lying to herself if she said she had not been growing steadily fonder of Hiccup the more she got to know him, and the revelation of his skills with dragons did not hurt his reputation, either. Given the short supply of eligible bachelors on Berk, it was perfectly possible that she might have come to the conclusion that he was marriageable material on her own. Would she not feel just as awkward having that epiphany herself, knowing that _she_ would be the one forcing the dynamic of their relationship to change? At least by overhearing her father propose the engagement, she had someone to blame for her current predicament - if things ever grew sour between her and Hiccup, she could argue that she had not chosen this. But if she was honest with herself, Astrid knew that she had been behaving awkwardly around Hiccup since before she overheard Pusguts' conversation with her mother.

_'By Brunhilde's fiery spear, I can't decide if that makes things better or worse,' _Astrid swore mentally, almost knocking her dagger off the Guardian Pillar into the sea with an anxious fidgety twitch. Beside her, Stormfly crooned in a manner that sounded vaguely sympathetic to Astrid's ears. Astrid wondered if the noise was random and coincidental or whether Stormfly was actually attuned to her emotions in some way. _'Can she read it in my face? Maybe I smell angry. I wonder what rage smells like...I would love to make a perfume out of it so that people know when to stay out of my way.'_

Astrid sheathed her dagger with a mighty sigh. She honestly could not tell if she was more peeved at Hiccup or herself. She had been legitimately concerned when it became obvious that Hiccup was missing, especially since they had been rocky ever since the forge incident - she knew he was still brooding because of the notebook that she had accidentally set on fire. There were only so many times Astrid would apologize before losing her patience and feeling the urge to point out that they were living in a colony that had been rebuilt several times due to fire damage. If Berk's Vikings could constantly rebuild whole buildings with little to no grumbling, Astrid did not see why Hiccup could not just recopy whatever had been on that parchment with a similarly positive attitude.

When Hiccup had been discovered to be missing, Astrid had been prepared to put aside those thoughts, wanting nothing but his safe return - she would apologize as many times as he requested, if only she could make things right between them. She knew she would feel exceptionally guilty if anything bad happened to Hiccup without their reconciling. But upon his return, she had not been able to get him completely on his own, and she could not help wondering whether this was intentional on his part. Hiccup did not seem like the kind of person to hold a grudge if someone was making a solid effort, but nonetheless, Astrid felt sulky and wondered if her fretting had been misplaced, after all.

Astrid hugged her knees to her chest, lowering her icy blue eyes to the expansive sea below her. The mist was starting to clear somewhat, tendrils of air wisping away to nothingness like ghosts finally being called to rest. A flash of silver caught her eye as a distant fish broke through the surface of the water, its sinuous body twisting in the air before plopping back into the sea with a faint splash. Stormfly followed its progress through the water with keen interest, her head cocking each time it reappeared. She gave Astrid a quick look as though seeking permission before edging herself off the Guardian Pillar.

The Deadly Nadder looked gawky and uncoordinated for a moment as she tumbled towards the sea, like a scaly chicken that had found itself airborne and was not sure how to process this new development. Then her great wings unfolded and suddenly she was the epitome of grace, racing the wind in a tremendously steep dive. The azure dragon knifed through the water so smoothly that the surface was barely disturbed before she emerged triumphantly with the fish clutched in her jaws.

Seeing her dragon catch the fish so effortlessly reminded Astrid that she had not yet taken her midday meal. She had not even felt particularly hungry until a moment ago, but Stormfly deeming it lunchtime was like a cue for her own stomach to begin feeling hollow. She had not brought anything to eat on this flight, having learned her lesson from previous experience that food satchels were frustratingly easy to lose whilst performing aerial maneuvers.

_'I'll let her eat her fill and then we can head back; I can grab something to eat from the Great Hall,'_ Astrid decided. Despite the acknowledgement of her hunger, she was content to watch the Nadder gambol about the waves for a few moments longer; she found it oddly soothing.

Stormfly finished her impromptu feast shortly afterwards and zipped back up to Astrid, who mounted her gratefully. The return flight to Berk was brief but exhilarating. Although the mist was dissolving, it stung Astrid's eyes to move against it with such speed, and so she was forced to keep her eyes tightly closed and trust Stormfly's superiorly heightened senses to get her home.

As they approached the island, Astrid squinted one blue eye open despite herself. The patches of beach she could see through the fog looked dull and blurry from this high as they zoomed towards the harbour. Through the brume she could make out a person and a dragon patiently waiting and for an instant Astrid thought it must be Hiccup, finally seeking her out. As she grew closer, she saw she was mistaken; it was Snotlout and his Monstrous Nightmare, Hookfang.

They touched down a great deal less lightly than Astrid would have liked; clearly that was something she and Stormfly needed to work on.

"Hey, Snot," Astrid greeted casually, swinging herself off Stormfly and beginning to loosen the Nadder's saddle.

"Oh hey Astrid, totally did not realize you were out flying this morning. I just got here. Going to do some flying, myself," Snotlout replied enthusiastically. Astrid peered over his shoulder, noting that unless Hookfang was a sleepwalker, the Nightmare was rather too deeply asleep for them to have only just arrived.

"How about you practice with me? We've got some pretty hot moves," Snotlout enthused, surreptitiously trying to nudge his dragon into a more alert state with his foot. Hookfang responded by promptly setting himself on fire and singeing Snotlout's boot, all without waking.

"Is that one of them?" Astrid teased.

"Sometimes I swear he pretends to be asleep just so he can mess with me," grumbled Snotlout, fuming almost as much as his foot. "Wake up, you lousy excuse for a glowworm!"

Hookfang opened one amber eye and yawned theatrically.

"Well, you two enjoy the skies - that fog is finally starting to burn off. I'm off to get some lunch," Astrid stated, beginning to head towards the Great Hall. It would almost be worth it to go hungry a little while longer, just to see the Monstrous Nightmare torment Snotlout some more - almost, but not while fluffy white rolls dripping in gravy and strips of savoury beef were calling her name.

"Wait, I'll come with you!" Snotlout called, running forward to keep pace with her.

Hookfang remained where he was, his amber eye closed once more. Stormfly looked like she was contemplating joining him in a nap. She shrugged the loosened saddle off and tucked it underneath her as she curled up next to the Monstrous Nightmare, close but not quite touching. Astrid could not help admiring the way the sapphire and gold scales looked beside the scarlet and onyx ones.

"Look how well they get along," Snotlout sighed, putting an arm around Astrid's shoulders. "Just like us!"

Astrid threw his arm off and contemplated breaking a finger for his trouble, but decided against it. It was still too early in the day to let herself be this vexed. Instead she turned back in the direction of the Great Hall.

"I thought you two were going flying," Astrid said through gritted teeth, seeing Snotlout following half a pace behind her.

"Oh, I meant after lunch," Snotlout excused himself hastily.

Astrid eyed the large dark-haired Viking critically. "The fact that you're covered in crumbs suggests to me that you just ate. Sloppily, at that."

"Those don't count, they're from yesterday."

"Like that's so much better..." Astrid muttered, running her hand through her bangs exasperatedly and glancing around.

There were a number of villagers in the vicinity going about their own business and largely ignoring the two of them. Astrid could see the forge about a hundred and fifty feet away. Her eyes almost flicked past it in order to continue looking for an excuse to ignore Snotlout, but Hiccup exited the forge at that precise moment. As Astrid watched, he headed over to the side of the building to cool something in a barrel of rainwater; Gobber used gathered rainwater in order to cool heated metal when melted snow was not available. As though sensing her eyes on him, he paused and straightened up, their gazes locking. Even from that distance, Astrid could see his jaw tightening upon seeing her conversation partner, but she was finding it difficult to interpret his expression - it seemed almost pleading.

On another day, those puppy eyes might have softened Astrid, but instead she felt herself growing indignant as she remembered how Hiccup had done nothing the last time Snotlout had interjected himself into their conversation. Hiccup was motionless, his hands resting lightly on the lip of the barrel as he watched Astrid. _'You don't get to look at me like that, with those hurt eyes, if you're not even going to do anything about it,'_ Astrid seethed. _'You're a _Viking_, for Thor's sake! If you want something, Hiccup, assert yourself!'_

Hiccup's hands twitched over the barrel and for a moment Astrid thought he had heard her mental tirade and was responding appropriately. But still, he did not move.

Astrid's attention switched back to Snotlout as the brawny boy jogged forward a few steps and planted himself firmly in her path. For once, his expression seemed serious instead of conceited. He almost seemed like he had shrunk somewhat, as though the cockiness melting off him had the tangible effect of stripping him down and revealing his true stature. Astrid had never noticed before what posturing could do to one's appearance.

"Is it so bad that I just want to spend time with you? I think you're a really cool girl, Astrid," Snotlout said in a rush, not quite looking her in the eye. For a Viking, he seemed downright bashful.

"You sound almost genuine," Astrid said in some surprise.

"I'm trying a new tactic of honesty; my other styles of flirting never seem to work on you," Snotlout revealed conspiratorially. "Is it working?"

"I haven't decided. You've certainly done worse," Astrid laughed louder than she might have done otherwise, determinedly not checking to see if Hiccup was still watching. _'If Hiccup has a problem with this, it's his own damn fault.'_

"As soon as I start to bug you, just give me a smack and I'll tone it down, I promise," Snotlout mumbled, still avoiding Astrid's eye.

Astrid raised a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Snotlout flinched instinctively; Astrid smothered a laugh.

"Relax, geez, you're making me nervous. Fine, you can come with me to the Great Hall while I eat. It's not like I could have stopped you, anyways - it's a public space."

"Don't ruin this for me - when I play this back in my head later, you extended a gracious invitation...with tearful begging for my company."

Astrid raised her hand threateningly. Snotlout hastily put his own hands up in front of his face in a guarded position.

"All right, all right. We both know you could have me pinned on the ground in about six seconds flat," Snotlout acceded. "See, that's a compliment. This honest style of flirting includes them at no extra charge. Still working for you?"

Astrid snorted. "Two seconds flat, three if you have the element of surprise. And let's not go overboard - consider this a trial run. And no touching," she added, seeing Snotlout extending his hand towards her. At her words he rapidly brought it back and adjusted his helmet as though that had been his intention all along.

They walked along the path to the Great Hall in silence, Astrid resolutely not sparing the forge another glance; she had no idea whether Hiccup was still watching her or not. Perversely, she hoped that he was. _'A real Viking _should _get jealous,' _she thought uncharitably.

She suddenly caught a glimpse of Snotlout, noticing a manic grin on his face.

"What's with you?" she asked nervously.

"Just happy that we can hang out, just the two of us, for once," Snotlout replied with such gusto that Astrid felt flattered despite herself. She hated to admit it, but as far as courting went, Snotlout was currently having much more success than Hiccup. Strangely, now that she thought about it, she could not remember Hiccup ever being this vocal or forthright about any feelings for her, and the thought made her frown.

Moreover, Snotlout's affection seemed almost sweet when the veneer of cockiness was scraped away. Normally Astrid considered him a "small-dose" friend - someone she could only handle fraternizing with in small doses before feeling a perpetual urge to punch him in the face. She was finding him far more pleasant without the cheesy pickup lines or the preening that inevitably occurred when the twins and Fishlegs were around to feed his ego. She had been mistaken in Hiccup's character in the past, so maybe she ought to give Snotlout a chance when he was by himself and not putting on airs for others.

"You know, you're far less obnoxious when there's no one else around," Astrid blurted out.

"Actually, I thrive on an audience," Snotlout confided.

"That's a matter of opinion."

"Well, the audience likes me," Snotlout grinned crookedly.

"I'm the only one here, so let me be the judge of that," Astrid countered with a smirk.

Was she really bantering with Snotlout, of all people? What a strange afternoon this was shaping into.

Astrid shot Snotlout another covert glance; he seemed quite cheerful. After the last few tense conversations with Hiccup, talking to Snotlout was starting to seem weirdly natural - relatively speaking, of course. She bit her lip unconsciously as she surveyed the confident steps of his gait, trying to look at him as through with a stranger's eyes. As nephew to Berk's chief, many young women might consider the brawny Viking to be decent marriage material. He _did_ embody many Viking traits she had always approved of, after all - he was strong and growing into a well-built young man, he could wrestle and sword-fight, he could almost eat his own weight, and his belch was considered a thing of beauty amongst the older men. He could be crass and was certainly both hot-headed and cocky, but some women considered those habits to be paradigms of manhood and therefore saw them as bonuses.

Those traits had not grown any less important to Astrid, but for some reason she was not satisfied that _Snotlout_ was the one possessing them. She could not help feeling that maybe if Hiccup could exhibit them more, she might feel a more complete sense of satisfaction. And then she wondered how to possibly reconcile such feelings with him. _'After all, if Hiccup were to completely change himself, wouldn't he lose the qualities I _do _admire_ _about him, the things that make me like him in the first?'_

"Geez Astrid, why so serious looking? You are way out of it," Snotlout's voice butted into her thoughts, and Astrid realized she was zoning out.

"Sorry, Snot. I'm starving, I keep daydreaming about giant dripping roast boar," Astrid hurriedly gave out. Thankfully her stomach decided to punctuate her sentence with a loud growl at that moment, effectively confirming her excuse.

"Sure sounds like it. Let's get some food into that lovely dragonesque figure, eh?" Snotlout started to chortle before catching a glimpse of one of Astrid's patented death glares. "Too far?"

"In what world is having a 'dragonesque' figure _complimentary_?" Astrid demanded archly.

"Well, it's not if you're thinking of something lumpy like a Gronckle, but a Night Fury or a Zippleback can be downright shapely from the right angle," Snotlout defended.

"I don't even know what to say to that," Astrid blinked.

"Don't say anything, just eat. My mother says she appreciates me more on a full stomach, otherwise I test her patience too much," Snotlout grinned wryly as they arrived at the Great Hall. "After you, my beauteous buttercup," he chuckled, hefting the heavy oak doors apart and holding them open for her.

Astrid jabbed a finger hard into Snotlout's chest. "No pet names, or I will make you into so much fertilizer for any buttercup, daisy, or wildflower that I find in my presence. Understood?"

Snotlout ignored her threat, brushing her finger aside and following her into the smoky haze of the Hall. "You need more romance in your life, you know that?"

The comment touched a bit too close to home, causing Astrid to flush. She sincerely hoped Snotlout did not notice her colour rising in the dim light of the Hall.

The combination of heavy stone walls and a dearth of windows meant that the Great Hall was full to bursting with the heady aroma of cooked food and smoke coupled with the chatter of rowdy Viking voices. Astrid stood up on her tiptoes, craning her head this way and that in an effort to locate Warthilda's table. Finally glimpsing the plump gardener tucked into a corner, Astrid started to weave in amongst the crowd, leaving Snotlout to follow awkwardly - his bulky frame was not as adept as her slim one for ducking and dodging around moving masses of people.

As they got closer to the corner, Astrid was dismayed to see a small crowd gathered specifically around Warthilda's table, clamouring for her food. In addition to the savoury beef strew Astrid had been anticipating, Warthilda was serving her famous honeyed gruel with yak cream for dessert, and so people were extra eager to be fed by her.

"By the time we get over there, it's all going to be gone," Astrid almost growled. She could not help feeling that if Snotlout had not delayed her, she could already have been devouring seconds of the gardener's delicious fare.

"Don't worry, I've got a plan," Snotlout grinned crookedly.

"What-" Astrid began, before Snotlout cleared his throat.

The dark-haired Viking ceased avoiding the crowd and began violently elbowing his way through it instead, pulling Astrid along as he went. All the while he called out loudly, "Out of the way! Top dragon trainers coming through! Come on people, let's move it! Heroic destroyers of the Red Death on the way through, you don't want to mess with these bad boys!"

"_That's_ your plan?!" Astrid stumbled along, red-faced. She had to admit that the crowd was parting around them, although Warthilda's stern look of disapproval was probably not conducive to receiving seconds.

"Why, hello there Warthilda! And how are you doing on this fine day?" Snotlout asked cheerfully.

Warthilda fixed Snotlout with the look of deep loathing she usually reserved for the twins. By the look of things, Snotlout was going to end up a close third on her list of un-feed-ables.

Snotlout gave a small cough and continued with his performance. "I was just talking to Astrid here - you know Astrid, don't you? Number Two in Dragon Training, amazing fighter, expert at dealing with Deadly Nadders, and a close personal friend as it happens - anyways, she was just telling me how much she was_ craving_ some of your wonderful cooking! She worked up a bit of an appetite training with her dragon in case we ever come up against any more monsters like the Red Death, so I mean, you pretty much _owe _her some lunch for defending the skies-"

Astrid carefully removed Snotlout's helmet as he gesticulated and proceeded to smack him upside the head, hard.

"Please excuse him, I think he has a head injury," Astrid said to Warthilda with gritted teeth. She turned to Snotlout and raised her hand threateningly as she shoved his helmet back. "And you! Consider yourself toned down."

Warthilda looked sternly at Snotlout before smiling at Astrid. "As it happens, I saved you some, dear. Your mother brought me a poultice earlier and mentioned you might want something when you got back from flying."

"Oh...thanks," Astrid said, feeling even more embarrassed at Snotlout's actions as she accepted the bowls Warthilda proffered to her and moved to sit down, Snotlout trailing behind her triumphantly even as he rubbed his head.

Although she supposed he had been trying to be nice in his own way and make sure she got fed in a timely manner, Snotlout's impatience had bordered on boorish impertinence, and she was surprised no one else in the line had clocked him for it. If she admitted it to herself, Astrid also felt rather awkward that he had used the Red Death as an excuse to butt in line. After all, Hiccup was the one who deserved the most credit for bringing down the behemoth, and the slender auburn-haired Viking had never once tried to use his fame from the event to get any special dispensation around the village.

_'He might be better than Hiccup at courting, but his public appearances could use some work,'_ Astrid thought as she tore a roll into chunks to sop in her stew.

She ate steadily, trying not to stuff herself too quickly and risk giving herself a bellyache later. Beside her, Snotlout attempted to kick his feet up on the table and promptly fell over as the backless bench gave no support for such a position. Astrid stifled a giggle, but her amusement must have shown on her face because Snotlout was glowering at her as he picked himself up.

"Hey, I expect a little more gratitude after getting you that food!"

Astrid snorted. "Please, you heard what Warthilda said - she was saving some for me anyways."

"Yeah, but without me you never would have gotten close enough to find that out."

Astrid arched an eyebrow and fixed Snotlout with a frosty stare, her monotonous chewing lending itself to what she hoped was an emotionless, unimpressed expression. It clearly did not register with Snotlout, who merely grinned.

"I'll take that as a 'thank you,' though your way of showing it could use some work."

Astrid rolled her eyes and swallowed, pulling her bowl of honeyed gruel towards her and swirling the yak cream around with her rough wooden spoon.

"Smells good," Snotlout sniffed, dipping a finger into Astrid's bowl and scooping out a small glob to taste.

"You did _not_ just do that," Astrid growled, seizing Snotlout's wrist and twisting it. The brawny Viking yelped and snatched his arm away as Astrid seized her clay bowl, shifting it well out of Snotlout's reach.

"Have you considered just using your words instead of hitting all the time?" Snotlout whined.

"I considered it, but rejected it as a course of action," Astrid snapped. She frowned, noticing a globule of gruel on the table even though she had not spilled the bowl when she had snatched it out of the way. Peering closely at the ceramic, she noticed a wide crack starting in its side and traversing part of the base.

"The bowl is leaking," she observed in aggravation. She should have _expected_ lunch with Snotlout to unfold in such a disastrous way...

Snotlout leapt to his feet. "I'll get you another one, don't worry!"

"It's fine, Snotlout, honestly-" Astrid started to protest, but the burly youth had already dashed off, taking her gruel with him. Astrid rolled her eyes, idly licking the bits of gruel still adhering to her spoon as she waited for him to come back with her food.

Snotlout was not long in returning, though his expression was stormy. "She wouldn't give me another bowl," he fumed.

"I can't imagine why not," Astrid muttered.

"This stupid bowl is ruining your lunch!" Snotlout exclaimed.

"Let's not blame the bowl, shall we?" Astrid said lightly.

"But I wanted this to be perfect!" Snotlout angrily slammed the bowl on the table. The crack widened with an audible noise, and a small trickle of gruel dribbled onto the table.

"It's just a noon meal..." Astrid blinked.

"That's not the point! I wanted this to be a memorable afternoon, and all you're going to remember is that your gruel leaked everywhere."

"I'm pretty sure that is not the only thing I will remember," Astrid sighed.

"Useless piece of junk!" Snotlout growled without hearing her, swiping at the bowl and knocking it hard across the table. Gruel splashed everywhere, and the violent jolt effectively smashed the pottery so that whatever had not flown out at his motion puddled onto the ground instead.

"Leaking gruel was better than no gruel at all," Astrid hissed. She could feel a twitch fluttering under her right eye as she surveyed her dessert pooling in the crevices between the flagstones of the floor. She could not help thinking regretfully that if Hiccup encountered something broken, instead of smashing it or dismissing it as useless, he tried to fix it or make it better in some way.

Sighing, Astrid swung her legs out from behind the bench and went off to search for a bucket of water to dump onto the dirty flagstones. Upon her return, she saw that a young boy and a small girl had approached her table and were currently conversing earnestly with Snotlout. Even at that distance, the carroty red hair of the boy was unmistakeable - it was Ulf, Oggfrid the Shipwright's son, the one who almost lost an eye in the smithy on one of Ruffnut's tours.

The little girl had the same ginger hair as Ulf, so Astrid presumed she must be his sister. She was slightly embarrassed that she could not recall the girl's name, but as a rule Astrid tended not to be overly familiar with any children in the village under five years of age. She knew it was terribly to callous to think that way, but with child mortality rates the way they were in Berk, Astrid found it too emotionally draining to become invested in any small children when they were still liable to die. As Ulf had already made it past seven or eight winters, he was probably going to live to adulthood and make a fine addition to the village, but until a child saw four winters, Astrid felt uncomfortable about the prospect of knowing them only to see them die during a harsh winter or a bout of pox.

"Mother said Nit was too little to hear the whole story when it happened, she said it was enough that she knew the dragons' queen had been killed," Ulf was saying energetically as Astrid advanced.

Little Nit nodded enthusiastically, bright red curls bouncing as she stood close to her brother, clutching his pant-leg. "I wanna know how it happened, too!"

Snotlout frowned theatrically and stroked what passed for stubble on his mostly bare chin. "It's a pretty terrifying tale, are you _sure_ you want to know?" he grinned.

"Yes!" Nit squealed. Although Ulf had probably already heard an account from their father Oggfrid or one of the other warriors who had accompanied Stoick, he looked rather excited at the prospect of hearing the story firsthand from one of the battle's participants.

Snotlout caught Astrid's eye with a wink. "They heard my announcements on the way to Warthilda's table and want to hear about how awesome we are," he confided proudly.

"Of course they do," Astrid rolled her eyes. As likely as not, Snotlout had cornered them with the express purpose of bragging.

"So there they all were, every fighting warrior of Berk, completely stranded on the beach while their boats were blazing behind them as they stared up at the biggest, most ferocious, most terrifying dragon you've ever seen! You think Scauldrons are big? Well, if you think of Nit as the size of a regular dragon-" Here, Snotlout paused to tickle the little girl, who giggled and squealed, "-well then if you stood her beside Stoick, that would be about the same relative difference in size. If you multiplied by five and added three, that is."

Astrid rolled her eyes, starting to tune out. She had to admit that while Snotlout's flair for the dramatic was obnoxious when it came to his boasting, it certainly made for exciting storytelling - Nit and Ulf looked positively riveted. As Astrid re-focused on Snotlout's tale, however, she could not help noticing his expanded role in this version of events.

"But wait, didn't Hiccup and his Night Fury help?" Nit inquired, interrupting a particularly harrowing account of Snotlout almost being charbroiled right off the Red Death's skull as he dodged around looking for its blind-spot. Funnily enough, Astrid could not recall any instances when the Red Death shot fire at its own face...

"Well, I mean, I guess he helped a little...but if you think about it, I was doing most of the brave stuff. After all, I flew right onto its face and I went around blinding its eyes! Six of them! I walked on its very skull, for Thor's sake! I basically softened him up for Hiccup, he never would have been able to kill it without me. All he had to do was fly around it and trick it into crashing - since I blinded it, I did all the hard work for him," Snotlout reasoned.

Astrid was glad she was not drinking anything because she almost certainly would have spat it all over herself in surprise and rage at Snotlout's response.

"Are you kidding? How do you think you would even have gotten up there if Hiccup hadn't taught you how to fly? And those weren't exactly simple maneuvers he was managing, especially while dodging the firepower of that thing!"

"He did his part, I'm not denying that," Snotlout sniffed. "I'm just saying, sometimes people forget that other people helped bring the Red Death down."

Ulf and Nit's eyes whisked back and forth between the arguing teenagers, their expressions uncertain as though they were unsure who had the right of it.

"We might have helped, and I'm not saying what you did wasn't brave, but we both know Hiccup was the real hero, there!" Astrid exclaimed hotly.

"Just because he lost a leg doesn't make him more of a hero than me!" Snotlout growled.

"No, his skills, attitude, and general bearing do that!" Astrid growled right back, drawing a fist back and propelling it into Snotlout's meaty arm. "Consider yourself toned down! Thanks for lunch," she stormed off. _'Gods, what was I thinking? Between the two of them, I'd rather be a spinster.'_

Snotlout watched Astrid leave, his chin jutted out angrily, before turning back to the awkwardly silent Nit and Ulf. "This is why you don't see as many female bards," he gave as explanation.

* * *

With the mist burning off, Holmgeirr the Broad finally felt comfortable enough to visit the barrows.

As a Viking, Holmgeirr knew he should not fear death. And he did not, not truly. When the time came for him, he looked forward to greeting Odin as an old friend in Valhalla or giving luscious Freya a squeeze in Fólkvangr. But despite all the bodies he had dispatched - dragon or human - something about knowing that behind that mound of earth and stone the bodies of people he had once _known_ lay rotting into the hill made him feel deeply unsettled. When fog undulated around the graves, it only served to heighten Holmgeirr's unease; the vapours made him think of dead souls seeping out of the soil.

Burial traditions on Berk varied according to the family. Most preferred funeral pyres that would waft the deceased and all their grave goods into the afterlife on a vast pillar of smoke; personally, Holmgeirr wished his family adhered to that tradition as well. But his family, like a select group of others, clove to interment, hollowing out modest tombs in the hillsides so that eventually their bodies would return to Midgard while their souls moved on with the possessions needed in the afterlife. Holmgeirr knew that funeral rituals were just the means to the end of sending off the soul in style, but despite his confidence that his status as a powerful warrior would confer him a place in Valhalla, sometimes he could not help wondering whether his soul would be trapped in the dank confines of a hill forevermore. When the time came, Holmgeirr would just grit his teeth and go along with his ancestors' choices; unlike some villagers, Holmgeirr _respected_ tradition. Besides, like as not he would not be able to tell the difference once he was dead.

But despite his great disdain for the barrows, Holmgeirr nevertheless felt compelled to visit Roald's grave every so often. Aside from missing his dead son, Holmgeirr felt like he owed it to Roald to check up on his body, as he was not entirely sure where his son dwelled in the afterlife. Too young and untested to deserve residence in the warrior halls of Valhalla or Fólkvangr, too stupid and impure for the holy mountain of Helgafjell, but too innocent to be punished in Náströnd, Holmgeirr could only hope that his son had found some innocuous region in Hel's realm to wander unmolested.

_'Stupid, proud boy,'_ Holmgeirr grimaced for the thousandth time. _'How could a son of mine be so foolish as to poke a sleeping dragon in the eye? Not even that fishbone of a boy Stoick calls his son was as boneheaded as that. I miss you, lad.'_

Holmgeirr felt the same stab of resentment he always did when he contemplated his dead son in conjunction with Stoick's boy. _'Sure, Roald was a proud fool. But we all are, at that age. In a few years he could have smartened up just fine.'_ It seemed a great injustice that Roald would sleep forever in his tomb without having the chance to become the man Holmgeirr knew he could become, while Hiccup, with all his frailties and oddities, would grow into manhood and continue to pervert the village with his strangeness.

Laying a roughly twisted wreath at the foot of the hill, Holmgeirr sighed. He knew it was ill-advised to direct such acerbic thoughts towards the son of the chief, but he could not help feeling bitter. Aside from the affection he felt for the boy himself, Holmgeirr's wife had died giving birth to Roald, and as long as he was around, Holmgeirr felt he still had a small connection to her. With Roald dead, it was as though the last vestige of her earthly presence had dissipated as well. The passing of the years had done little to lessen the pain of either loss.

Briefly, Holmgeirr wondered whether Stoick felt this way about Hiccup and Valhallarama, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He found it too difficult to imbue Hiccup with any sense of significance, familial or otherwise, after witnessing years of bumbling incidents and episodes of un-Viking-like behaviour. He was a menace, and Holmgeirr could not see how Stoick could associate any feeling but shame with him, regardless of whatever new-found status the boy now had amongst many of Berk's villagers. The so-called "esteem" would pass once the village saw Hiccup was the same old nuisance, but now all the more dangerous for having a dragon at his beck and call.

It was not that Holmgeirr hated Hiccup, per se. It was more that Holmgeirr would have preferred it if Hiccup had died as a child.

This was not a thought born of loathing; it derived from practicality. Chiefship in Berk had long been hereditary owing to the island's small size and smaller population; although a council and the elder were often instrumental in decision-making, it had been decided that except in the direst of cases, a hereditary chiefdom was stabler than the inevitable strife born of power struggles. As far as Holmgeirr was concerned, a boy like Hiccup with such an obvious inattention towards Viking norms and culture coupled with a penchant for clumsy ineptitude and disaster would make an appalling chief.

And yet the older the boy got, the more imminent this prospect became. If Hiccup had died young - which should have been the case, given his small stature and Berk's harsh environment - any number of more desirable candidates could have been named as heir to the chiefdom: Spitelout, Snotlout, even Holmgeirr himself, or Roald, had he lived. Of course, Hiccup was not just a runt, but a runt stubbornly clinging to life despite the harm his survival would inevitably bring to the colony.

No, it was not the passionate rage of hatred that Holmgeirr felt. It was more of a slow-burning contempt, riled by specific incidents but left to smoulder quietly in the background otherwise. Hiccup was not the kind of person Holmgeirr felt inclined to expend energy upon unless absolutely necessary. Coldly aloof apathy suited Holmgeirr better unless he was provoked.

Unfortunately, Holmgeirr was starting to feel more and more provoked these days. Even before thrusting dragons into village life, Hiccup's small size and attempts to use clever gimmicks to compensate for a lack of brute force had been irksome to him. And as far as he was concerned, training dragons made things worse, not better. How could someone who had upended centuries of tradition in order to side with the very same beasts that had decimated Berk's population possibly be put in charge of a village full of dependents? The very thought was alarming.

At least Hiccup used to _try_ to fit in. These days, the teenager seemed to be embracing his stubborn strangeness. It was not enough that he was _different_, but he no longer even saw a need to change. He _paraded_ his difference. The boy was too damn complacent, having been overindulged after that Red Death incident. Moreover, Holmgeirr was starting to think Hiccup was mentally deranged. Ever since he had returned from his mysterious disappearance a fortnight ago, Holmgeirr had several times witnessed Hiccup glazing over, staring fixedly at his Night Fury in utter silence as though trying to bore into its mind with his eyes. Frankly, it was unnerving.

With the sky finally clear overhead, Holmgeirr caught a glimpse of red wings as a Monstrous Nightmare glided by, almost lazily, its tail almost grazing the treetops. Out of pure bodily instinct, Holmgeirr's crossbow was loaded and aimed before he remembered that Stoick had instigated a policy of not shooting down a dragon, even in the wilder parts of the island, unless it had been witnessed harming people or livestock. Although feral dragons still frequented Berk, there was too good a chance someone's trained dragon might end up downed by mistake. Holmgeirr lowered his crossbow, gritting his teeth.

While some villagers were easily swayed by the allure of tame dragons, Holmgeirr was not one of them. Beasts were beasts, and even now, he was not convinced the clever brutes were not merely lulling the villagers into a false sense of security so they could feast upon the village at will. And even if they were not malicious, they were simply too _dangerous,_ with their claws and teeth and firepower, to be living side by side with them on Berk and taking up their valuable resources to boot. The presence of so-called "domestic" dragons on the island was a constant thorn in Holmgeirr's side. _'They've killed thousands of us, and you want to keep them as pets?!' _he had railed more than once. He was comforted in knowing he was not the only one to have these thoughts, but even amongst those who were like-minded, thoughts were not deeds. At least, not yet.

Holmgeirr frowned as he removed the bolt from his crossbow, replacing it in his quiver. His reflexes were slipping. In earlier times, that bolt would have been deeply embedded in the Nightmare's chest long before he should have been able to remember Stoick's edict. Hiccup was not the only one getting complacent; without the constant raids or the presence of a "legitimate" enemy, Holmgeirr's role as a warrior was starting to feel defunct. He had thrown himself into hunting with a gusto, if only so that he would not lose the satisfaction of handling his weapons. Though he had excelled, hunting would no longer pose a challenge until the boars sprouted wings and started dive-bombing him. And yet Holmgeirr had no other real niche or skill for the village - he had lived and breathed for dragon assaults.

Holmgeirr was about to replace his crossbow, but he paused, a slight grimace knitting his dark brows. He could remember a time when Stoick had lived and breathed for dragon assaults, too. True, their relationship was not always the closest - he had always been more fiery and irascible than his somewhat more composed cousin, but there had been times where the heat of battle had kindled their blood, and in those times where they had even fought back to back, Holmgeirr truly got the sense that they were kin of one mind.

Whatever their differences in temperament, Holmgeirr had always more or less respected Stoick; even he could admit that Stoick was a fine chief in his prime. His well-balanced consideration of problems often resulted in the resolution of issues that would not even have occurred to Holmgeirr, and the sheer raw power of the man was something to behold. The only problem was that Holmgeirr was not entirely sure Stoick was in his prime anymore. How could he be, if he was getting soft enough to accept dragons as a fixture in daily village life? This was a man getting too muddled to be wary, too old to maintain the necessary vigour to keep up the fight. Otherwise, back when the most recent Dragon Training class had had their exam, Stoick would have slaughtered the Night Fury on the spot rather than listen to his son's ridiculous pleas.

It was not that Holmgeirr necessarily wanted to be chief instead; he was just starting to worry that Stoick was no longer as capable as he had once been, and he was decidedly not thrilled with the alternate option being Hiccup as his heir. He supposed there was always Spitelout, but as he had more or less embraced his brother's perspective, he was not ideal. Besides, his son was almost as bad as Hiccup, cavorting as he did with that mean-spirited Monstrous Nightmare.

He wondered whether he should bring it up with the others at their meeting this afternoon.

The meetings were not secret, not exactly. But they certainly were not broadcasted, and as more people joined and persisted in remaining closemouthed around the rest of the village, a certain sense of furtive illicitness had solidified.

It had begun with only a handful of people bringing their dragon-related grievances to Holmgeirr with the expectation that his status as a top warrior and his relation to Stoick would lend their complaints more weight with his voice added. Since then, he had grown into a rallying point of sorts for all those who were dissatisfied with the way their world had shifted. As kin to the chief, Holmgeirr could perhaps influence Stoick in ways they as ordinary villagers could not. But could they possibly see him as another option for legitimate leadership? And did he even dare ask when such thoughts smacked of mutiny?

Holmgeirr glanced at the sky again, and then did a double-take. The sun was riding far higher than he had expected - if he did not move it, he was going to be late for that very meeting. It was another reason he disliked spending too much time at the barrows; something about the solitude of the area, so far away from the populated part of the island, always made him lose track of time. It made him feel as though the dead were slowly drawing him out of synch with the living.

With a final glance at Roald's tomb, Holmgeirr turned to leave. Making sure his crossbow was secure and hoisting his rucksack over his shoulder, he picked his way through the woods on the way back to Berk's more inhabited area. Avoiding the path that led to the village proper, he instead veered southeast to where Mildew's hermit cottage resided. Initially, his disgruntled peers had approached Holmgeirr at his home in the village, but as their numbers swelled and the unvoiced desire for secrecy grew, they had taken to meeting at Mildew's more isolated abode.

As crotchety and ill-tempered as ever, old Mildew had not lost his derisiveness towards most of the villagers nor his inclination for reclusiveness. Nonetheless, as he still violently objected to the dragon presence in Berk, he was willing to subject himself to the presence of other people for the purpose of potentially getting rid of the winged pests for once and for all. Holmgeirr certainly had no love for the old man, but the more support the anti-dragon faction generated, the better.

Holmgeirr could hear the low murmur of voices as he approached the cottage, including Mildew's shrill one raised in anxiety. The old fart was doubtless becoming alarmed with the villagers intruding on his residence without Holmgeirr there to moderate them. By the sound of things, he was the last one to arrive. He caught a glimpse of frizzy brown hair through Mildew's dirty mullioned window. It popped out of view again almost instantly, the voices dying to a hush as it did so.

The owner of the frizzy hair burst out of the cottage, wiping her hands on a patchy apron. The action did little to cleanse her hands; they were the hands of a clothing dyer and as such they were semi-permanently stained a mottled greenish-blue colour.

"You're late," she snarled.

"Hello, Gerd," Holmgeirr greeted, ignoring her tone completely. Given her standards, she actually sounded quite pleased to see him.

Gerd - often called "Gerd the Bitter" behind her back - was a craggy-faced widow who had aged before her time. She had suffered all the trials of widowhood without the joys of actually having a husband first, as he had died in a dragon raid only shortly after they had been first married. Some men might have overlooked her flyaway brown hair, weathered skin, bowlegged figure, dyed hands, and persistently pinched face and married her a second time, but the incident had soured her. That, combined with her biting sarcasm and tenaciously stubborn, highly opinionated personality, meant she was unlikely to ever have a second husband. Of course, this was something Gerd blamed on the dragons, not on herself, but despite it all, Holmgeirr was somewhat fond of her. She had always made it clear that she thought highly of him for wanting to "take a stand against the dragon menace" and he knew her approval was not easily won. Moreover, as long as they were not directed against him, her acidic tirades were amusing to watch.

"We've been waiting for you!" Gerd clucked her tongue. "How are we supposed to do anything until you arrive? Without you to direct anything, we might as well just stay in the village and whine at each other without trekking out here to this abominably dirty little shack!"

"I heard that!" came Mildew's irate voice from inside.

"I was visiting Roald," Holmgeirr said simply.

Gerd's face softened somewhat, or at least the lines of her face looked slightly less sharp. "Odin keep his soul," she said sympathetically. She allowed Holmgeirr exactly three more seconds of pious silence before her voice resumed its usual vinegar tones.

"But that's exactly the kind of thing we're trying to prevent in the future, if you would only just get here on time!" she nagged.

Holmgeirr felt the hair on his thick arms bristle as though they were a substitute for raising his hackles. Admonishments about Roald were off-limits. "Shut your face, woman! I get here when I get here and that should be good enough for you!" he roared.

Instead of cowering, Gerd merely grinned. "Now just muster that spirit with Stoick," she said, following him into the dim interior of Mildew's cottage.

It took Holmgeirr's eyes a couple of moments to adjust from the bright afternoon sunlight to the inside of Mildew's gloomy cottage as he tried to see the faces of his core group of supporters more clearly.

"Holmgeirr," a tall Viking near the door gave as a greeting.

Holmgeirr squinted and made out the long, ash-blond straight ponytail and even features of Aarne Halfspear. His closely-cropped beard and moustache were so finely blond that they almost seemed nonexistent in the low light.

Knowing the dour man, that initial greeting was all he was likely to say all meeting - Aarne tended to keep silent, speaking out only rarely. Slimmer than the ideal Viking build, Aarne Halfspear was an agile and deft warrior, talented with the weapon that lent itself to part of his name but morose company ever since his twin brother had been killed by a rogue Zippleback. Holmgeirr had sometimes caught him regarding the Thorston twins with some wistfulness; he knew Aarne and his brother had been very close and that the death had had a profound impact on him - so much so that after the funeral Aarne had vowed to decapitate a single head from a Zippleback and let the other head live on so that the pain of his loss could be made known to that wretched creature in a comparable way. Holmgeirr did not much like Aarne since he made for glum company and was absolutely no fun to drink with, but as respected figure in the village, his support was necessary.

"This is the eighth time they've done it this week!" a short but thick figure barrelled past Aarne and thrust himself in Holmgeirr's face, standing on tiptoes to do so.

Holmgeirr took a step back and was confronted with the short but widely built butcher of Berk, Mudnob. His hair was a fiery red and the wispy way his beard grew out only added to the illusion of his whole head being on fire, which seemed oddly appropriate given the legendary temper of the little man. His rage was partially the reason why he chose to work with meat - the cutting and tenderizing helped him to channel his anger. The hand he poked into Holmgeirr's chest was painfully hard; he had forgotten to remove his mallet attachment. Like Gobber the Belch, Mudnob was missing a hand courtesy of a hungry dragon and often used mallet, knife, and cleaver attachments to help in his trade. At least it was the tenderizing mallet fixture he had thrust into Holmgeirr's chest and not the cleaver one.

Aside from his missing limb, Mudnob's greatest peeve was that trained and wild dragons alike kept stealing both fresh and cured meat right out of his shop, and as far as he was concerned, this grievance deserved Holmgeirr's immediate attention and superseded all other complaints.

"So? What are you going to do about it?!" Mudnob growled.

"I'm working on it," Holmgeirr said hastily, putting more distance between himself and the feisty butcher. "I'm trying to remind Stoick that if they keep getting into your cured meat, it's going to start affecting our supplies for winter."

"He'll have to listen to that," Gerd sniffed knowledgeably.

"We know, that's why we've been suggesting it," Mildew rolled his eyes.

Gerd's eyes glittered. "Don't you sass me, Mildew. We've got a common enemy to save that for."

"This is my house and I'll sass whoever I please!"

"You call this a house?!"

"Just get them to stop swiping my meat is all I ask!" Mudnob growled.

"I thought we were waiting our turns before we told Holmgeirr what we want him to tell Stoick," came a slow, plaintive voice. Holmgeirr did not need his eyes to know it was Halvard, one of Berk's many fishermen, addressing him - the fishy odour more than confirmed his presence.

"Don't worry, Halvard lad, we'll get our turn," an older fisherman reassured, and Holmgeirr recognized Orfi, one of Berk's most efficient fishermen and a good friend of his.

With dark stringy hair that nonetheless formed a set of truly majestic sideburns, skin that was so weathered from time spent on the boats that it looked like one giant freckle, and a faint but permanent whiff of fish scent that followed him wherever he went, Holmgeirr had always thought Orfi and Gerd would make for a hilariously awkward couple. However, Orfi was too good a friend to inflict Gerd upon him, and Gerd probably wouldn't take him even if he wanted her.

In any case, for a mere fisherman, even Holmgeirr had to admit Orfi had plenty of warrior spunk - his life goal had always been to slaughter and mount a Scauldron head, like his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had all done before him. It was a long-standing tradition for the men of his family to do so, and not by waiting for dead Scauldrons to wash ashore or stupid ones to beach themselves, either. To prove themselves, the men of Orfi's family actually fought Scauldrons in their own element, engaging them in wicked sea battles - a feat that was not undertaken lightly given Scauldrons' surety in the water and the high percentage of drowned Vikings that occurred from such attempts.

Beside Orfi, Halvard blinked and scratched his head, his thick rust-coloured hair rippling under his sausage-like fingers. With a rather large physique and a scar over one eye from a long ago Skrill attack, Halvard looked very fierce though he was actually very kind. He was immeasurably patient but rather slow, and was a great stickler for following rules; without them, he inevitably felt lost. He was currently looking agitated, possibly because Mudnob's jumping ahead had upset his deeply ingrained desire to follow protocol.

"Don't worry, Halvard. I know what grieves the fishermen," Holmgeirr started to assure the young man.

"Yes, Magni preserve us if Stoick doesn't give Orfi the chance to kill a Scauldron of his very own," another fisherman interjected laughingly.

It took Holmgeirr a moment to see who had interrupted before he realized that it was Welt. The ginger-bearded Viking was partially out of sight because he was sitting in order to rest, his artificial leg discarded on the floor as he rubbed his stump. In spite of his injury, Welt was probably the strongest rower of all of Berk's fishermen and so was welcome on most boating expeditions. He was well-liked around the village for his good humour and excellent storytelling prowess; his favourite and most oft-told tale was how he lost his leg to a Sharkworm. Unlike Aarne, Holmgeirr considered Welt to be an excellent drinking partner who could liven up any evening with his unerring talent to burst into inappropriate shanties at even more inappropriate times. Unfortunately, just like Orfi and Halvard, Welt was not immune to the scent of his trade.

"The Scauldron can wait, it's those nets I'm really concerned about," Orfi waved Welt off. "Yeh have to let Stoick know that dragons keep tearing our nets and stealing our fish. Now, I can't prove whether they're wild or the tame ones, but it shouldn't matter either way. That's _our _food, and letting them stay on the island just encourages them. If we don't chase them off, it's just going to get worse."

"And that's more important than my meat problem?" Mudnob demanded imperiously.

Welt cocked an eyebrow. "We eat both fish and meat, so I'd say it's a pretty equal problem. And we're not the ones who jumped ahead to bother Holmgeirr first."

"I'm sure I saw the Hofferson's girl's Nadder slicing through the nets the other day," voiced Gerd thoughtfully.

Holmgeirr snorted. Gerd hated boats and had few occasions to be anywhere near the harbour in order to see such a thing. But Holmgeirr knew she was prejudiced against the Hofferson girl; anyone who was pretty, under twenty, and pro-dragon was written off in Gerd's books.

"Yes, let's all just shout out our problems!" came a slightly hysterical voice to Holmgeirr's left.

He had to look down to see her, but he recognized Turnip, a somewhat nutty old lady who divided her time between tending to her fields and hen-pecking her husband Olaf. Turnip was perpetually covered in dirt and had wispy flyaway hair in the same colour. Though of small stature, it was more than compensated for by her loud, crackly voice. Next to Gudrunir the Elder, Turnip was probably the oldest woman in the village, and she made this obvious by going on long-winded rants while muttering and barely paying attention to what others were saying.

"Those dratted Terrible Terrors _persist _intearing up my fields! I won't have it, I tell you! I won't have it!" Turnip yelled, spittle flying from her mouth and her eyes bugging out.

"Take it down a notch, dear," Olaf sighed. A little old man with a magnificent grey moustache but no hair anywhere else, his nondescript appearance was as easily forgettable as his voice was washed out by his more forceful wife.

_ 'Gods, it's as though Turnip's leeched all the life out of him and projected it into her throat,' _Holmgeirr thought, not for the first time. Outside these meetings, Holmgeirr tried his best to actively avoid the dotty little woman, and he could not recall talking to Olaf about anything more substantial than the weather.

"Have you tried putting up fences?" Halvard asked, genuine concern lacing his voice.

"Stupid lad, they'd just fly over the fence," Mildew snorted.

Determined not to agree with Mildew on anything ever, Gerd proceeded to give him a tongue-lashing while assuring Halvard his idea was good in theory. Even she had a soft spot for the slow but well-meaning young man.

"Enough of this squabbling, are we going to get down to business or not?" a clear female voice rang out.

Holmgeirr looked over the heads of the people in front of him and caught a glimpse of Svenja the Swift leaning against the far wall of the cabin, casually running her thumb down the broad side of her axe. Tall with cornflower blue eyes and a sheet of straw-yellow hair that ran down her back almost to mid-thigh, Svenja was one of Berk's most accomplished shield-maidens. Even though he missed his wife, Holmgeirr would be the first to admit that Svenja was exceptionally pretty in spite of the raised scar running from her temple down to her sternum. He had toyed with the idea of remarrying with her in mind even though she was almost half his age because he had been impressed with her fighting skills. He had never pursued her though, knowing her history as he did.

Years ago, Svenja's brother had died in a dragon raid and her father had never gotten over it. Subsequently, he had put more and more pressure on his only remaining child to succeed in Dragon Training - she had even been at the top of her class back in the day. Predictably, Svenja had received multiple marriage offers, but she had vowed she would not be distracted by accepting any until she had successfully killed and mounted the head of one dragon of each species on her wall - all because she had never found out which one had actually delivered the killing blow to her brother. In truth, the Hofferson girl had reminded Holmgeirr forcefully of Svenja, until she had defected onto the side of those winged worms, that is.

"Yeah, let's get down to business," a voice echoed tremulously.

Holmgeirr snorted despite himself. Who else could it be but Loaf, the twitchy young man who was barely out of Dragon Training himself and still desperate to grow facial hair? It was his worst kept secret that he was in love with Svenja, not that she had ever deigned to notice him much.

Gerd shot Loaf a contemptuous glance. "We all know the only reason you're here is because you think if you slaughter some dragons Svenja hasn't managed yet, she might condescend to marry you."

Loaf reddened under his freckles, fiddling with his dark gold hair as though to hide under it. Although he had the body of an adult Viking, he moved awkwardly, still getting used to having grown into manly limbs that were still unwieldy for him.

Welt frowned at Gerd. "Don't be a hag, you know that's not true."

Orfi clapped Loaf's back in agreement. "Loaf's got his own business to settle with those menaces."

Loaf nodded furiously as Holmgeirr recalled that the boy's father had been killed by a Thunderdrum the very day he was supposed to induct him into the War Council. That day the young Loaf had sworn to avenge his father by killing as many Thunderdrums as he could, and though he was not the best in Dragon Training, he had certainly worked studiously to improve. _'Mind you, I wouldn't be surprised if Loaf _did_ want to help Svenja with her self-imposed task in order to free her up for marriage as soon as possible. He's about as subtle as mud, that one.'_

"We've all got business with 'em, that's why we're here, ain't it?" a voice boomed.

Holmgeirr grinned under his beard at the sight of Torkel, a huge warrior after his own heart and probably his closest friend on the whole of the island. Brawny but not brainy, nonetheless Holmgeirr knew he could always rely on the seasoned warrior. Though he was reputed to have a bit of a mean streak, Holmgeirr knew Torkel would never dare direct it at him - he relied on Holmgeirr's direction too much during both dragon raids and hunts, as strategizing was not Torkel's strong point. That aside, Torkel was a skilled warrior and quite forbidding to boot. He kept his blond beard in heavily matted dreadlocks, giving him the fearsome look of an unkempt pirate.

Holmgeirr knew that Torkel's vendetta against dragons was almost as personal as Svenja's and Loaf's. Several years ago, the girl Torkel had been going to marry had become horribly disfigured by burns in the wake of a dragon assault and had consequently killed herself. Torkel had not known whether she had done it from shame at her ruined vanity or because the pain had been so agonizing, but either way, ever since he had sought to exterminate Monstrous Nightmares with a ruthless intensity.

There were other villagers with similar gripes, of course, but these were Holmgeirr's core group of solid supporters, the ones who never missed a meeting and who were the most vocal about actively getting rid of the continued dragon presence on Berk.

"I want them gone!" Turnip screeched randomly.

"What's she even doing here, she's got nothing to contribute," Mildew growled.

"Don't you talk that way about my wife!" Olaf defended half-heartedly.

"Shut up, Olaf!" Turnip, Torkel, and Mildew all rumbled in unison.

"These meetings aren't about how individually we can knock off the dragons, they're about generating enough solidarity that Stoick can't argue with the negatives outweighing the positives," Welt pointed out.

"It's about generating enough solidarity that Stoick can't argue with the blah blah blah blah!" Gerd mocked.

Holmgeirr rubbed at his temples. "Enough!" he roared. "I didn't cut my visit with Roald short just to listen to the lot of you sniping at each other! We're here because we preferred life on Berk the way it was before Hiccup changed everything! We all want the dragons gone, and if we ever want to convince Stoick that it's for the best, then yes, we have to work together!"

Suitably chastened, the meeting proceeded in a somewhat more organized fashion with people outlining their most recent complaints in more detail and stating how they thought Holmgeirr ought to address Stoick regarding them. Truthfully, Holmgeirr was starting to feel bored - this pattern had accomplished very little so far, as Stoick was not one to yield unless totally convinced.

As though sensing Holmgeirr's ennui, voices started to be raised in agitation once more.

"Calm down, everyone's issues will be addressed. Besides, you're talking as though I'm the chief here - all I can do right now is try to explain these things to Stoick so that he finally does something about it. I can't do anything more than that," Holmgeirr muttered.

"But you want to, don't you?" Gerd asked slyly.

Holmgeirr frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Gerd simply smirked.

"Don't be going all cryptic on me," Holmgeirr warned.

Svenja made an exasperated noise. "Either you're too humble or too stupid, Holmgeirr. She thinks you want to be chief instead of Stoick."

"Well, at this point I think he'd do a damn better job!" Gerd retorted hotly.

Holmgeirr paused. Had he not just been pondering those very thoughts?

"We've already got a chief," Halvard said obstinately.

"Yes, Halvard," Gerd said patiently. "But see, he's losing his touch. A Chief of Berk has a duty to defend the island from dragons. Instead, he's welcoming them, letting them eat our food, letting them get close to our children. Maybe the Red Death isn't controlling them anymore, but who's to say they won't decide to attack us one day all on their own?"

Halvard was silent, seemingly deep in though. "But Stoick is chief," he finally said.

"I never said I wanted to be chief," Holmgeirr said cautiously.

"Maybe not in words, but yeh do have yer own council of sorts forming here," Orfi pointed out.

"You all came to me!" Holmgeirr started to raise his voice.

Orfi raised his hands defensively. "So we did, so we did. Maybe on some level we're tired of the way Stoick is running village."

Holmgeirr's eyes narrowed under his dark brows. "So what are you saying? You want to get rid of Stoick?"

Loaf's eyes grew very wide under his fringe of dark golden hair. This was starting to turn into dangerous talk. Beside him, Welt laughed nervously.

"No one is saying that, exactly," Gerd began. "He's a good man and he's been a good chief. But might be it's time to convince him he should step down. Enjoy his later years. And it's good to know that if that ever happens, we have a reasonable alternative," she said carefully.

Beside her, Torkel and Mildew were looking thoughtful, Mildew picking at his browning teeth and Torkel twisting a dreadlock into an even knottier clump.

"And better you than Hiccup the Useless taking over," Turnip voiced derisively in a rare demonstration of actually listening to the conversation going on around her and participating accordingly.

Mudnob gave a booming laugh. "That's fer sure," he spat. Holmgeirr grinned despite himself at how they seemed to be in accordance with his deepest of thoughts.

Welt plucked at his curly ginger beard anxiously. "Don't be doing anything drastic here," he remonstrated. "That kind of talk isn't why I sought you out."

Svenja surveyed Welt coolly, flicking a strand of golden hair over her shoulder. "Maybe not, but if it comes to protecting our home or keeping an outdated chief pacified in his dotage, you're on our side, aren't you?"

Welt looked troubled, but he nodded.

"Friends," came a low voice. Everyone looked around, eventually noticing that Aarne Halfspear had finally spoken for the first time all meeting. "I think we can all agree that presently, Stoick is doing all we can expect of him given that some villagers are convinced dragons are no longer a threat. No matter how wrong they are, I think it unwise to provoke anything until we can show them definitively that dragons are not the docile creatures Hiccup would have us believe."

It was perhaps the most anyone had ever heard Aarne say at one time; Holmgeirr was mildly surprised at the quietly measured tone of the words. He had always assumed Aarne rarely spoke because he would make himself sound like a fool.

Mudnob groaned. "You know the only way we can convince them is if dragons start attacking people or livestock again, and that hasn't happened in ages."

Gerd's eyes glittered. "What makes you think we have to wait for that to happen on its own?"

* * *

As the wind whipped around him and threatened to catch under the finely veined membrane of his wings and force them aloft, the Plagueling calmly surveyed the semi-rotted corpse of his dead mother.

Although he had grown several feet even in the short time since he had hatched, the Plagueling felt stifled and weak from an absence of fresh food. Only crushed shells remained to tell the story of his siblings' brief existence; not even their bones had escaped his maw to indicate that he had not in fact started life out as a solitary hatchling.

In the deepest bowels of the broken volcano crowning Fire Nest Island, he had found the half-chewed remains of several dragons Plague Breath had commenced gnawing on and forgotten about. In his insatiable hunger he had greedily finished them up, but now there was not a scrap of flesh remaining on the whole of the island. Not a scrap of flesh besides the noxious tissue sloughing off the skeleton of Plague Breath's ravaged body, that is.

The twolegs and their pet Night Fury had murdered Plague Breath right before winter had set in. While the frigid air had not preserved the rotting flesh completely, it had certainly slowed the decay. The corpse was recognizable, though more terrifying in this state of decomposition than it had ever been in life.

Even though the smell of rotting tissue was repellant, the Plagueling was still seriously considering eating it. There was nothing else to eat, and though his wingspan was considerable, he did not yet feel confident enough to take to the skies and hunt.

Besides, he had already eaten the mortified eggs of his stillborn siblings, of flesh that had never even felt the spark of life. How bad it could be, really, to eat this meat that had lived and had been partially refrigerated by the northern air? He had the iron stomach of a dragon, not the flimsy pink tissue that passed for the organs of twolegs or fourlegs. He could handle a brief moment of queasiness in return for the nourishment meat could give him, could he not?

_'Mother would want it this way,' _he convinced himself. He had proved himself to be the strongest of all her spawn, surviving for weeks on an derelict island without even a mother to nudge him in the right direction. By proving himself a champion amongst his own siblings, amongst his nest-mates, he was clearly destined for more than starvation - he could dominate his brethren, the twolegs, maybe even the Aesir if ever he grew strong enough. Plague Breath could have, if she had not grown self-satisfied and lazy. What was to stop him?

Nothing but starvation, here and now, unless he ate something, and soon.

_'Mother wouldn't want me to starve,'_ the Plagueling thought confidently. _'She would want me to survive, to feast on her flesh and absorb her strength.'_ After all, Plague Breath seemed like the maternal type. She had made an excellent nest, and she had not eaten her own eggs. Yes, definitely warm and maternal, he could not ask for more.

The Plagueling skittered forward, tentatively grasping the greenish flesh of his mother's hide with his fore-claws. It smelled foul and it stripped off the bone far too easily, almost disintegrating into a putrid mess in his mouth. Although every fibre of his being told him to spit it out, he chewed and swallowed, convinced that his own mother's body could never harm him, convinced that the fact her corpse had remained partially preserved on the beach through the winter was a sign that he was meant to do this.

Even his iron dragon's stomach was roiling as he took a second bite, his pupils dilating as the corrupt flesh of his own mother entered his system.

* * *

**Author's note: **Eurgh, I think I grossed myself out with that last part there o.0

Anyways, again, I apologize for the delay! I am hoping that the next chapter won't take as long, but I don't want to make any promises just in case. Also, sorry for the lack of Toothless and Hiccup this chapter. Although they do form the heart of this story, I needed to get some other elements rolling. But don't worry, the focus will be back on them again in the next chapter.

As always, please don't be shy about reviewing, I love to hear feedback! :)


	6. To Be God Touched

**To Be God-Touched  
**By Celestra (El S)  
December 2012-January 2013

**Author's Notes:** Gudrunir the Village Elder who is featured in this chapter is the same one we see in the film overseeing Dragon Training. I named her that back in chapter one, which I wrote before Riders of Berk premiered and before I was aware of her having a name besides "Village Elder." Since then, I found that her name is apparently Gothi, but I've decided to keep the name "Gudrunir" both for consistency's sake and because its meaning relates more to the themes of this story: it comes from the Old Norse Guðrún (Gudrun). One aspect of the name is that in Norse legend, Gudrun was the wife of Sigurd. However, it also means "god's secret lore," which is certainly appropriate for an elder, especially an elder in this particular story.

* * *

**Chapter Six  
**To Be God Touched

Hiccup regarded the edge of the cliff with only the briefest of disinterested glances before rocking on his heels and leaping out into empty space.

The wind slapped at him viciously as his body tumbled through the void, the sea and the clouds reversing themselves constantly in his vision as he spun head over heels down, down, down.

Just when Hiccup thought he could bear the tension of the fall no longer, he repositioned his body slightly and spread his wings. The abrupt motion of the wind catching against his wings jerked his whole body violently, but at least he was aloft under his own power, no longer buffeted by the air currents. Far above him, the cliff from which he had leapt loomed, its presence a testament to the sheer verticality of his descent.

With a rush of glee, Hiccup wriggled his left tail fin slightly and found it to be whole. Drunk with the joy of flight, he maneuvered his tail and executed a dazzling series of aerial acrobatics merely because he could. Gods, it felt good to be alive and airborne!

Still intoxicated with the sensation of unencumbered flight, Hiccup dipped and rolled through the air, whooping all the while. Tensing his body and streamlining his wings, he shot out towards the ocean and sliced through a myriad of clouds. In an act of whimsy, he decided he wanted to taste them and kept his mouth open as he swept through them. The clouds burst wetly on his tongue; they tasted of rain and something intangible, like sunshine made liquid or distilled thunder.

Clearing the bulk of the clouds, Hiccup glided smoothly over the waters of the ocean. The surface seemed particularly calm today, almost glassy in the sun. Hiccup dived lower, casually glancing at his reflection in the moving mirror under him. He almost pitched right below the surface at what he saw, for where he expected to see freckles and auburn hair he saw instead obsidian scales and luminous jade eyes framed by cranial fins.

_'That explains the wings,'_ Hiccup had enough time to muse briefly before the shock of his appearance physically jolted him back into the waking world.

Hiccup lay absolutely still in bed with his eyes screwed shut, trying to fall back asleep and recapture the dream, but it was no good. It had fled from him, the crisp details blurring around the edges the more he attempted to recall them.

Grunting in exasperation, Hiccup shifted in bed, reaching for his back so he could massage his shoulder blades; the physical sensation of having wings was always the slowest to recede after a Dragon Dream.

It was not unusual for Hiccup to dream vividly and often, but certain dreams - which he had oh so creatively dubbed Dragon Dreams - were different. At first, they had not seemed so very disparate from other dreams he had had in the past, but as they cropped up more and more often, Hiccup became aware of several differing elements. In these dreams, lines were sharper, colours were more intense, his hearing was more acute, and oh yes, he was pretty sure he was sharing these dreams with Toothless.

Or perhaps it would be more precise to say that these were Toothless' dreams that he was experiencing. But were they dreams at all? These nocturnal visions felt more like _memories_ of flight than the vague, hazy quality that usually defined Hiccup's own dreams of flying. There was something inexpressibly _draconic_ about these nighttime journeys, not the least of which was that any time Hiccup's dream self happened to catch a glimpse of itself he inevitably had the physical appearance of a Night Fury.

At first Hiccup had been convinced that it was a coincidence. _'I'm dreaming about flying in Toothless' body because I spend so much time talking to him right before I go to sleep, and obviously those thoughts keep rattling around the back of my mind and get mixed into my dreams,'_ Hiccup had rationalized to himself. Besides, the dreams did not exactly bother him - there were worse things that could be prowling through his subconscious, and some of those dreams had been downright cool.

But as the dreams continued for several nights no matter what Hiccup concentrated on right before sleep, he had been forced to adjust his theory. After much deliberation and an incident where he had almost singed off both his eyebrows at the forge because he had been so preoccupied, Hiccup had finally come to the conclusion that when he and Toothless were asleep, their mental link was at its most permeable. Sleep made their minds vulnerable as no conscious censors were maintained, and so with absurd ease Hiccup inadvertently slipped into the Night Fury's mind and witnessed his dreams or memories of solo flight.

Upon first reaching this judgement, even Hiccup was skeptical. And then he remembered that he regularly conversed with a mythical winged lizard and had sat shivering, naked, and cold on the roots of the mythological World Tree as three entities embodying wisdom, fate, and time had looked on with varying degrees of amusement. _'Nope,_ Hiccup realized, the rules of normalcy no longer applied to him with quite the same force as they once had.

Besides, the longer Hiccup and Toothless had been sharing their link, the more certain Hiccup was that his theory was correct. After all, their mental communication was improving on the whole despite lapses in comprehension here or there when one or the other lacked the words or concepts to make themselves understood. But even more astonishingly, Hiccup was pretty sure that once or twice he and Toothless had even shared the same _physical_ sensations.

Not that long ago, Hiccup had been walking and his prosthetic leg had accidentally caught in the crevice of a broken flagstone, sending a powerful jolt up his thigh and causing the head of the artificial leg to grate awkwardly against his stump - it was a wholly unpleasant feeling. At that exact moment Toothless had yowled, gingerly placing weight on his back left leg but otherwise not explaining his reaction.

A few days later, Toothless had managed to accidentally scrape off some of his scales while scrapping with Hookfang, and Hiccup had felt a strange twinge in almost the same spot on his own abdomen, though his flesh remained mercifully intact.

Hiccup nestled deeper under his bed furs, furrowing his brow. Was this part of the gods' price for wisdom, that he should feel any pain his dragon companion felt? Or was it an unintended outcome that even they had not foreseen? But no, that was impossible. Of the Norns, neither Urd nor Verdandi nor Skuld seemed to have the capacity for surprise - they were far too unruffled and secure in their knowledge of the universe for that. Perhaps it was simply a less-explored element of their gift of communication, and other sensations besides pain could eventually be shared.

Rolling onto his side and propping himself up on one elbow, Hiccup glanced across the room to where Toothless was sleeping. The Night Fury's midnight scales glinted slightly in the silvery moonlight, seeming to absorb more light than they reflected. The dragon was sprawled on the large rock slab that served as his bed when he did not feel like roosting in the rafters. Because Toothless often liked to heat up his bed-space with a plasma blast before settling down, the rock bed served as a compromise to prevent the accidental incineration of Hiccup and Stoick's mostly wooden home.

Under Hiccup's gaze, Toothless remained in the thrall of the Dragon Dream, making small twitching motions that recalled a dog dreaming of running a wild hunt. Hiccup grinned at the thought of a Toothless-puppy, but the smile drained from his face as his thoughts returned to the dreams themselves. By the dragon's own admission, Hiccup knew that Toothless loved flying in tandem with him, but nevertheless, Hiccup could not help but feel guilty whenever he witnessed Toothless' private thoughts of solo flights.

Hiccup could not be sure whether the dreams actually signified anything to Toothless or not. After all, Hiccup had had plenty of dreams that consisted of nothing but regurgitated brain noise, occupying his sleeping mind but ultimately symbolic of nothing. Was this the case with Toothless' flying dreams, his mind simply rehashing remembered imagery? Or was Toothless subconsciously dwelling on these independent flights because they were out of reach now and he missed them? Hiccup was afraid to ask, not knowing whether Toothless was even aware that he was piggybacking on his dreams; it seemed to Hiccup that admitting it would be a violation of privacy somehow.

In any case, Hiccup's guilt had less to do with slipping into Toothless' dreams and more to do with knowing that he was ultimately the one responsible for severing his best friend's capacity to make those dreams of independent flight a reality.

Hiccup blew a breath out the side of his mouth and flopped onto his back, shoving away some of the bed furs; the comfortable heat of his bed was a poor companion for his troubled conscience. In another room, he heard Stoick give a huge grunting snore. Hiccup ignored the noise, closing his eyes lightly, brown lashes fluttering against the pale moon of his cheeks in the darkness of his room.

_/cannot fly without you. do not _want_ to fly without you. not needing another colony. another dragon would not have helped me fly again. home is here. home with Hicclaw/_

Hiccup had replayed Toothless' words in his mind countless times, and it never failed to warm his heart. But it also never failed to remind him that if it had not been for his bola-launching contraption, Toothless would not have needed help returning to the skies. In the Night Fury's recollection of the fateful night of his maiming, he had known very well that a Viking had been responsible for knocking him out of the sky and grounding him in the cove, but there was no way for him to know that _Hiccup_had been that Viking. From conversations with the dragon, Hiccup had gleaned that Toothless thought it was purely by chance that Hiccup had stumbled into the glade, that their forbidden friendship had been a stroke of luck.

In the early days of their relationship, there had been times where even Hiccup sometimes forgot that he had not encountered the downed dragon by chance. When he had immersed himself in the task of creating equipment that would allow the Nighty Fury to fly again, it was more pleasant to think he was doing a good deed for a suffering creature rather than atoning for any action of his own, but there it was. More pleasant, but certainly less accurate.

Back when he and Toothless were unable to speak directly, it had been far easier for Hiccup to keep his role in the dragon's maiming a secret. What did the words _'I'm sorry'_ mean to a dragon, anyhow? Even with their makeshift lexicon there was no guaranteeHiccup would have been able to successfully convey the magnitude of his actions to the Night Fury. And it was not like he was exactly in a hurry to expend extra effort on something that was liable to alienate him from his closest friend.

Hiccup bit his lip. If he were honest with himself, there were times where he was perversely glad events had played out as they had, maimed tail and all, because his friendship with Toothless had come to be possibly one of the most important things in his life. _'And yet...and yet, how can I live with myself knowing the only way I got him as my friend was because I shot him out of the sky and disfigured him permanently? What kind of person am I to be finding happiness in that?'_

While Yggdrasil's boon of mind-to-mind knowledge had been a huge asset towards their communication and ultimately their coming closer together, it had also served to humanize the dragon, putting him and Hiccup on an even keel. Knowing Toothless as intimately as he now did predictably caused Hiccup to cherish their bond now more than ever - and that meant that keeping a secret of this enormity was becoming impossible. Toothless was not a mount to be ridden and directed and kept in the dark at the discretion of a human master; he was as insightful and sensitive as Hiccup, and he was one half of an equal partnership - and that could mean no secrets, no matter Hiccup's misgivings.

Of course, concluding that Toothless had a right to know the truth about his disfigurement and assuaging his guilt was easier for Hiccup to contemplate theoretically than to actually put into action. Anytime he tried to steel himself, he immediately quailed because of a very real fear that in knowing the truth, Toothless would permanently turn away from him. And how could Hiccup blame him, really, after taking away his power of flight and making him dependent on a scrawny human boy for something that should come naturally?

Hiccup took a deep breath. _'Calm down. After all we've been through together, that's only the worst case scenario...right?' _CouldToothless not forgive him for a misjudged aim in the dark, especially given Hiccup's efforts to get him airborne again? After all, when Hiccup had first come upon Toothless in the cove, it had been fairly obvious that Hiccup had been seriously contemplating killing the dragon before cutting him loose instead - and Toothless had evidently forgiven him for that particular indiscretion. But mind-to-mind conversations had shown Hiccup that if nothing else, the Night Fury could still be very fierce and proud, and he might not be so forgiving if he learned Hiccup had put him in that weak position in the first place.

Letting out the breath he had been holding, Hiccup flopped onto his back once more, the exhalation rustling his bangs. Toothless deserved the truth, but there was no need to rush in the telling, was there? _'It's not as though his tail fin will grow back for telling him any sooner.' _Besides, how could he even begin to casually broach such an awkward subject? He could just picture the conversation now...

_ 'Lovely weather we're having, isn't it? By the way, you know how you got crippled for life that one time? Yeah, that was me - my bad. So yeah, it looks like perfect weather for flying, wanna go for a spin?' _Yeah, that would go over well.

Hiccup shut his eyes again, embarrassed at his own mental voice. Maybe he should just avoid the topic altogether until some sort of appropriate lead cropped up, or if he could somehow soften up Toothless with a basket of juicy fish first... Or perhaps one day Toothless could conveniently mention offhand how much he enjoyed having a life-altering injury, and Hiccup could chime in with a "well, if _that's _the case, have I got a funny story for _you_!" Once more, Hiccup cringed at his mental conversationalist skills, wishing idly that it was socially acceptable for Vikings to practice the art of diplomatic dialogues more frequently.

"Ugh," Hiccup groaned softly, flipping over so that he was lying on his stomach with his pillow partially in his mouth. It tasted like the straw it was stuffed with, providing a sharp contrast to the taste of clouds from the Dragon Dream. It was far too late to be dealing with this sort of thing. If he could just mentally prepare himself over the course of a few days - without inadvertently broadcasting himself, hopefully - he would be able to do it. Soon. Eventually. Probably.

With the comforting thought that 'eventually' did not necessarily mean tomorrow or even this week, Hiccup finally relaxed enough for sleep to claim him once more.

The next day dawned with a brisk snap in the air. Berk was sidling away from summer and into autumn, which was really just a short transitional period before a winter that would dwarf both of them in length set in. Usually there was just enough time for the leaves to fall before the frost came, though Hiccup could recall a year not that long ago where the ice had come so suddenly that all the leaves had been frozen while still in the flush of life. Winter that year had choked them for almost nine solid months; to this day the villagers still called it "Skadi's Year."

Hiccup rose and began mechanically preparing for his day; he pushed his worried thoughts from the night before to the back of his mind where they could skulk in peace for the moment. Or he tried to, anyways; Hiccup was a worrier by nature and so occasionally those thoughts would rise unbidden to the surface of his mind once more, tentatively testing the air for purchase. Distractions like these were dangerous in the smithy, however, and twice this morning Gobber had cuffed him around the head to ward off a moment of inattention.

"Lad, when yeh get that look in yer eyes and zone out, yer liable to lose a finger or worse," the mustachioed blacksmith admonished the third time it happened. "Yer usually much more focused than this, I've seen yeh balance a nail on its point before. What's eatin' yeh?"

"I'm just tired, I didn't sleep all that great last night," Hiccup gave as an excuse. It was not even really a lie - he could have done with some unbroken rest.

Gobber frowned, tugging at his moustache absentmindedly. "If yer gonna be moving as heavily as a _draugr_, I don't want yeh doin' detail work today."

"I'm just tired, Gobber, I'm not undead," Hiccup groaned. "Come on!" Hiccup took great pleasure in doing the detail work for any given piece, as he had always felt that the details were what tipped a piece from fine to exceptional.

"Yeh know my rule, Hiccup."

Hiccup rolled his eyes, echoing Gobber word for word with the practice of one who has heard the saying countless times: "_if yer clumsy while yeh make it, yer liable to break it._"

Grumblingly, Hiccup acquiesced to Gobber's directions and worked on some basic shape-work instead. He had to admit that the rhythmic pounding suited his current mindset better than the tighter, finicky work. The tension that had accumulated in his shoulders due to stress about how and when to address his Toothless situation did not feel so acute when he could physically hammer out his frustrations against the molten metal on the anvil.

In the afternoon, Gobber dismissed Hiccup earlier than he usually would have, ostensibly so Hiccup could rest. Even so, Hiccup knew it was more so that he did not "pull a Hiccup," an expression rooted in his accident-prone nature that had often been heard in the village when they were still fighting dragons, sometimes with a jovial tone, though more often without.

It had been a long time since Gobber had sent Hiccup off early for such reasons, not since the first days of his apprenticeship when the burly amputee was half-afraid Hiccup would accidentally set the shop aflame while simultaneously impaling himself on the numerous semi-complete weapons. Since then, Hiccup had gone a long way in proving himself to be a very able smith, but Hiccup knew it was not a question of talent that concerned Gobber so much as the danger that lapses of concentration entailed in a place littered with burning metal and pointy objects.

"Remember, he's got the attention span of a sparrow, so keep an eye on him," Stoick had warned Gobber, within Hiccup's earshot, back when Gobber had volunteered to serve as Hiccup's apprentice-master.

Hiccup could not exactly blame his father for these warnings, nor Gobber for heeding them. It was only after he had cut his chin daydreaming while sharpening a sword - a scar he still had to this day, and praise Odin he had only gotten his chin and not his eye in such a way that he would have resembled the one-eyed deity - that Hiccup had really forced himself to focus while working in the forge, teaching himself to assume the mentality that every project was under consideration as a masterwork, that every action had to be part of a measured, graceful whole to that effect. Accordingly, he had achieved a level of zen and surety in the smithy that was woefully absent from the rest of his life, and so anytime he lapsed in concentration there - like today - Hiccup unerringly grew annoyed with himself.

_'You can do better than this, you know better than to let in outside distractions,'_ Hiccup mentally berated himself; he needed to keep _something_ for himself, after all. He made his way back home as he was not in the mood to eat in the Great Hall, and he was fairly certain there was still some leftover mutton stew and black bread at home. Moreover, this way he could check in on Toothless and see if he wanted to do any flying this afternoon.

Hiccup made it almost all the way home before pausing, an idea occurring to him. He retraced several steps, almost halfway back to the forge, and then stopped, hoping Toothless was actually still in the vicinity of his house; otherwise his little experiment would be meaningless. He wanted to see how far his mental link with the dragon extended: did they have to be in close proximity to hear each other, or was it possible for them to hear each other over a short distance?

_\Toothless?\_ Hiccup queried tentatively. There was no response, so Hiccup skipped a few steps forward, birdlike, and tried again. He repeated the pattern several times before it occurred to him vaguely that he must look ridiculous traversing the village in this manner, but he figured the villagers would simply shrug it off as him "just being Hiccup." Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Holmgeirr the Broad and Gerd the Bitter rolling their eyes and smirking at one another, but he ignored them - spite was a common response from those two. On the other hand, he caught a glimpse of little ginger Nit giggling and imitating the birdlike-style of hopping and pausing with great exaggeration, and Hiccup grinned at the little girl's exuberance.

When he was about forty paces from his house, Hiccup tried reaching Toothless again, and finally the dragon seemed to be in range.

_/yes, Deftclaw? want something?/_ Toothless came padding out of the house.

Hiccup grinned crookedly. _\Just your cooperation, bud, and you've done great so far.\_

Toothless fixed Hiccup with a deadpan reptilian stare. _/not understand/_

_ \One day I have got to teach you about joking and sarcasm,\_ Hiccup promised with a chuckle. He pulled one of his ever-present notebooks out of his fur vest's pocket and made a note on how the mental link seemed to have a range of about forty paces. _'I wonder if there's any way to extend that,'_ he mused.

Toothless snorted. _/humans have strange inventions. why not speak plainly? dragons have no need for this 'sarcasm'/_

_ \Everyone needs sarcasm,\_ Hiccup said absently as he pocketed the notebook again and ambled into the house, inspecting the pot over the hearth and tossing on another log to feed the low-burning flames. _\I swear to the gods that I would have died on this island without it.\_

_/Hicclaw so strange/_ Toothless projected, proudly. Hiccup wondered whether Toothless having an exceptionally strange human boosted his prestige in the other dragons' eyes the same way taming a Night Fury had raised his own amongst some of the villagers.

Hiccup munched on the reheated stew after ascertaining that Toothless had eaten already, possibly to Orfi's chagrin. Not that he had stolen anything out of his nets, as Toothless was far too savvy to do that, but to hear Toothless tell it, they had been competing neck and neck for the same school of fish amongst the shoals earlier in the morning.

_\I doubt he's happy about that,\ _Hiccup said as he swallowed a mouthful. That was one thing he definitely loved about this form of communication - talking with his mouth full was no longer an issue.

_/then should get faster floating nests/_ Toothless responded disdainfully.

_\Those are called 'boats,'\ _Hiccup corrected automatically. _\We use them as transportation in the water, we don't hatch our young in them. Also, for someone who doesn't want to learn about sarcasm, you're awfully snarky.\_

Toothless made a hissing sound that might have signified laughter. Hiccup did not know if the dragon had anything further to say to that as at that moment they were interrupted by a singsong voice catcalling from outside the house.

"_Hiiiiccup! Hey, Hiiiiccup!_"

"Son of a misshapen dwarf, not again," Hiccup groaned as Ruffnut appeared dramatically in the doorway.

The female twin's last attempt to blackmail Hiccup into designing her Zippleback tattoo had failed when Toothless and Hiccup had disappeared for three days on their jaunt to Yggdrasil, rendering her threats of setting Astrid on him moot for the time being. Since then, Ruffnut had taken to pestering Hiccup at unpredictable intervals, and years of honing her skills against Tuffnut had given her a particular aptitude for being obnoxious.

"Hiccup? Where'd he go? Son of a troll, I coulda sworn I just saw him come in here," the lanky teenager yanked on an ash-blond braid in consternation.

Hiccup raised an eyebrow as Ruffnut's glittering eyes surveyed the room without seeming to focus on him. He wondered how much mead she'd been drinking at the Great Hall at lunch. He coughed politely and her eyes flicked in his direction, though her gaze still seemed to slide right off him.

Nonplussed, he stood up. "Hey, Ruff, it's nice to see you invading my home again. Anything in particular I can help you with?"

Finally, Ruffnut seemed to perceive him, her trademark sly grin cracking her face.

_ 'Huh, maybe her vision is based on movement, like birds. Or she has a blind spot, like dragons. I should test that,'_ Hiccup noted.

"I'm here for my tattoo, and no more excuses, got it?! I'm ready to sit here and watch you draw it right now, if I have to!" Ruffnut intoned in a vaguely threatening tone of voice.

Hiccup blinked. "I kind of doubt that, given your total inability to interest yourself in anything that doesn't involve bleeding or scars in some way."

"Don't be a smart-arse, Hiccup. And trust me, there will be bleeding and scars if I don't get what I want," Ruffnut smirked.

Toothless narrowed his jade eyes at the Viking girl, a growl just below the range of Hiccup's hearing vibrating in his throat. Hiccup knew he did not understand most of her words, but it was her tone that set him off. Or maybe he could smell casual insanity wafting off her; these things were hard to tell sometimes.

_ 'Okay, let's see if my idea to get her to stop bugging me about this works,'_ Hiccup thought resignedly.

"Actually, I do have some designs to show you. Why don't you step outside and wait while I get them?"

Ruffnut regarded him suspiciously. "Okay, but you better not try to lock me out this time. Belch and Barf are out here waiting and your door would make great target practice."

"Yeah, yeah," Hiccup muttered, ushering her out. _'I kind of figured that would only work once.' _He mostly just wanted her out of his house in case her reaction to his designs involved her liberally wrecking his home and material possessions.

He hurriedly retrieved the loose parchment sheaves from his room and went outside, Toothless following close behind. Ruffnut was standing nearby, her arms crossed over her chest. Behind her, the Hideous Zippleback she shared with her brother loomed like a watchdog, albeit an extra alert one with its additional pair of eyes.

The head on the right snaked its way over Ruffnut's shoulder, hungry for attention from its mistress. "That's a good boy, Belchy," she cooed, giving the head a scratch.

Hiccup switched his gaze to the other head to see if it was jealous at the attention it was receiving from Ruffnut, and was surprised to see that it was asleep.

"I didn't know one head could sleep while the other stayed awake," Hiccup voiced

"Barf is a lazy shit when Tuff's not around," said Ruffnut sardonically. "But yeah, a lot of the time they sleep in shifts. That way they don't miss anything."

"That's interesting, we should add that to the Dragon Manual. Where is Tuffnut, anyways?"

Ruffnut shrugged. "I dunno, trying to force Fishlegs to give him extra honeycakes from the bakery last I saw...as though Dogfins would let that fly." She paused and shot Hiccup a contemptuous look. "And we're not attached at the hip, you know. We're actually trying to spend some time apart so people can finally learn to tell one of us from the other."

Hiccup gave an awkward shrug.

"Now stop changing the subject and let me see my tattoo!" Ruffnut exclaimed, trying to yank the parchment from Hiccup's hands. But Hiccup, familiar with her erratic mannerisms, anticipated the move and danced out of the way.

"Yeesh, don't be so grabby, you'll rip it," he complained. What was it about Berk's females not recognizing the scarcity of the material?

"Now, Vikings get tattoos all the time, but usually they involve smaller shapes or knot-work. The kind you're asking for is pretty large, so it's more of a commitment," Hiccup began to elucidate.

"Gods, spare me the lecture, Hiccup," Ruffnut rolled her eyes. "I don't need the history lesson, I just want to see the design!"

"I just want you to know what you're getting into before you ask me to design anything," Hiccup continued, entirely too innocently. "I took the liberty of sketching out how the tattoo might look as you age. Just so you have an idea, you know. Don't want you committing to such a complicated tattoo without seeing all the possibilities. You can never say I'm not thorough when I consider taking on a commission."

Ruffnut snatched the parchment away, her eyes shrinking in fury as she scanned the drawing - an obvious portrait of her in a furry bikini that had been aged by about seventy years. The skin of her illustrated self hung in unattractive wrinkled folds, and the furry bikini top did not lend much support to breasts sagging halfway down her torso. The way Hiccup had depicted the "aged" tattoo made it look like raisins were twisting around her thighs and navel rather than a Zippleback.

"What in Helheim is this?!" Ruffnut growled at Hiccup.

"There's also one in case you ever get really fat," Hiccup pointed out helpfully.

In the second drawing, Ruffnut was still wearing the furry bikini, but her features were ballooned out and chunky. The Zippleback tattoo, far from creating sinuously sexy lines on her illustrated body, looked stretched out and grotesque on her imagined potbelly. It almost looked like she and the tattooed dragon were locked in a war to consume each other.

"After weeks, this is what you have to show me?!" Ruffnut thundered, causing Barf's sleeping head to start awake with a jump.

"I never agreed to design anything formally, these are just preliminary studies," Hiccup said lightly.

"It's gonna be hard for you to design anything once I break all your fingers," Ruffnut growled.

"Well, that just seems counterproductive," Hiccup said with a straight face.

Ruffnut looked like she was seriously contemplating throttling Hiccup on the spot. Her mood had clearly infected Belch, the right head, who fixed Hiccup with a murderous yellow-eyed stare. Belch nudged Barf and chittered until Barf too began hissing in Hiccup's general direction. The growl in Toothless' throat that before had hovered just out of range of Hiccup's hearing became audible as a result.

"Teach him not to mess with a Thorston!" Ruffnut barked.

The two heads looked at each other and then back at Ruffnut in bemusement.

"Come on, make with the fire and talons!" Ruffnut gesticulated wildly with her eyes bugging out.

Obediently, Belch exhaled a small cloud of the flammable green gas, and with another nudge, encouraged Barf to ignite it, shooting a small fireball as a warning in Hiccup's direction.

"Whoa there, that seems a bit extreme!" cried Hiccup, skittering backwards in alarm.

Toothless snaked forward almost immediately in response, diffusing the fireball with a plasma blast of his own. The Night Fury and the Zippleback began scuffling, rolling around on the ground, though as far as Hiccup could tell, they were not aiming to kill. Regardless, he cringed whenever it seemed like both heads were ganging up on Toothless at once.

"Come on, Belchy!" Ruffnut cheered. Apparently without Tuffnut around, Barf was feeling less than motivated and was content to allow Belch to carry the fight.

Eventually Toothless managed to pin Belch, causing Barf to rouse himself, because however he felt about his master's sister, Belch was still part of him. The scuffle continued, a flash of roiling emerald and obsidian scales tumbling before Hiccup's eyes. Ruffnut seemed enraptured by the fight, loving all things chaotic as she did, but since actually murdering the chief's son or his dragon was out of the question, the absence of high stakes in the scrap caused her to lose interest sooner rather than later.

"Come on, Belch, Barf. Let's get out of here," Ruffnut muttered. "Hiccup's learned his lesson for now."

The Zippleback de-tangled itself from Toothless and departed after the belligerent twin, though as far as learning lessons went, the Night Fury looked to be in considerably better shape than the less coordinated dual-headed dragon.

_\Thanks, bud,\_ Hiccup breathed. _\...well, I kind of get the impression she's going to stop asking me about that design now, eh?\ _

Toothless attempted to shake off the dirt that had gotten rubbed into his scales during the tussle, fluttering his wings for good measure. _/word she called you before. 'smart-arse?' related to this 'sarcasm?'/_

_ \Er, yes. Why do you ask?\_

_ /she is right. you need lesson/_

Hiccup chortled. _\So why'd you help out, then, if you thought I deserved it?\_

_ /still my human/_ The Night Fury's mental voice radiated amusement and grudging affection.

"Thanks, bud," Hiccup said aloud, scratching Toothless in the hollow spot under his jaw so that the Night Fury squirmed in satisfaction.

"Wait a second," Hiccup continued, giving Toothless a closer examination. _\Hmm, looks like Belch and Barf damaged your tail fin while you were scrapping.\_

Toothless made a grumbling noise and twitched his tail around so it was in his field of vision. True to Hiccup's observation, some of the iron rods that helped support the leather in its fin-shape were bent out of shape, though luckily the leather itself did not seem to be torn.

_\It's okay, this will be easy to fix,\_ Hiccup assured the Night Fury.

For the second time that day, the boy trotted off to the smith with the onyx dragon scarpering behind him. Gobber was nowhere in sight, finally having dismissed himself for his own midday meal. The forge was still warm, but not blazing. Toothless curled up in the corner as Hiccup threw on a leather apron and set to reheating the furnace. When he was satisfied, he unstrapped the tail fin attachment from Toothless' rig and carefully unhooked the leather fin, inwardly cursing because he knew he would have a nightmare of a time putting it back in position; it was always easier to take it off than reattach it.

Hiccup worked dutifully, perspiration beading on his forehead as he patiently worked the fine metal rods back into their intended shape. The focus problems that had plagued him in the morning had dissipated, perhaps because making sure the flying rig was functioning properly was of utmost importance for both Toothless' safety and his own. The process took longer than he had originally estimated as he realized he had to remake some rods completely and solder them onto the main piece. Luckily, there were spare scraps of iron roughly the shape he needed lying around the smithy, facilitating the process considerably.

In the few hours it took to repair the fin, Toothless had been dozing lightly in his corner, though he roused himself with almost eerily precise timing once Hiccup began cooling the fin's body. He regarded Hiccup solemnly, his jade eyes glowing with the reflected light of the forge.

_/thank you, Hicclaw. take such good care of me/_

Hiccup reddened under the sheen of his sweat. _\Of course, bud. You know I'd do anything for you.\_

Toothless unfurled from his coiled position, scratching behind one of his cranial fins with his hind leg in a very dog-like motion. He paused, considering the auburn-haired boy in front of him.

_/do not think ever thanking you properly for this. for tail, for flight. for life again. might have died if not found by you. so, my heart friend, I thank you. for tail, for flight, for life, for friendship, I thank you/_

Hiccup felt profoundly touched by the dragon's grateful words, but he also felt distinctly uncomfortable to be hearing them after his tormented thoughts from the night before. _'Thor's Hammer, if him bringing this up after the night I had isn't a sign that I have to tell him now, I don't know what is. I can't let him be thinking I'm selfless like one of those Christian saints Trader Johann told us about. He has to know.'_

_ \I don't...I don't know if you should be thanking me. At least, not until I tell you something, something important,\_ Hiccup began tentatively.

_/that is silly. of course should be thanking you/_

_ \I'm really very extra sure that you shouldn't be, not until you hear me out.\_ Hiccup hesitated before taking the plunge, his recollection of that night all those months ago tumbling out in an agonized rush.

_\So you see, you shouldn't be thanking me for repairing your fin, not when _I'm_ the reason you need it in the first place. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am. If I had known, at the time, I never would have...\_ Hiccup trailed off with a painful swallow, his heart starting to beat furiously with anxiety as he awaited Toothless' reaction.

The Night Fury had remained silent all throughout Hiccup's telling, digesting the words.

_/this you knew, this you kept from me all this time?/_

Hiccup nodded numbly. _\Yes.\_

Quick as a snake striking, Toothless rose to his hind legs with a mighty roar, sending a jumble of tools clattering to the ground in a metallic cacophony. The enclosed space made him seem even larger and fiercer, and though he made no move to harm or otherwise touch Hiccup, the boy was suddenly put in mind of their first meeting in the cove when he had cut the Night Fury's bonds and been pinned to the ground by the injured dragon. Hiccup was reminded that for all his talk about "training" dragons, they were not pets to be domesticated but dangerous, proud, and intelligent. Like scaled people, they did not bear perceived insults or betrayals lightly.

_\If I had tried to tell you at first, you never even would have understood me,\_ Hiccup defended weakly. _\I swear, I thought I was defending my village when I took that shot. But I _know_ you now._ _If I knew then what I know now, I would never have attacked you. You're my friend, my best friend!\_

Smoke escaped from Toothless' nostrils, a sure sign that he was biting back rage.

_/let you come close, many moons ago. thought you were different. but just as violent and bloodthirsty and deceitful as your kin!/_

_ \No, that's not true...I stopped the fighting, I stopped the war, to make sure nothing would happen to you...\ _Hiccup took a step forward, his hand outstretched towards the dragon in a pantomime of their first contact. The Night Fury's eyes blazed like emerald fire and he whisked away, eyeing Hiccup distrustfully.

_/you knock me from the sky, ground me forever. pretend to be good of heart to lift me to skies again, knowing all the time you are reason I am cannot reach clouds myself. this is not what a heart friend does/ _Here, the dragon sounded almost hurt.

_ \I know, you can't begin to understand how sorry I am that you were hurt because of me.\_ Hiccup's spring green eyes shone with unshed tears. _\I know you're furious with me right now, and you have every right to be. But do you think there's a chance-\ _And here Hiccup paused to wipe his eyes, though otherwise he tried to remain stoic; the moment was too overcharged with tension for any further reactions to be beneficial.

_\-do you think there's a chance you could ever forgive me?\_

Tendrils of smoke were still unfurling from the Night Fury's nostrils. He regarded Hiccup impassively, his jade eyes hooded.

_/do not know. I will go and swallow this rage and think. but do not follow/_

Toothless fell back down to all fours, bursting out of the forge in a midnight flash and galloping in the direction of the wooded part of the island as though demons were at his tail. Hiccup watched him go in dumb silence, leaning against the doorpost with his arm wrapped around his midsection as though he had been dealt a fatal blow. In effect, he had. His insides felt icily constricted and his heart was physically aching, though it continued to pump blood as cheerfully as ever. In that moment, he wished it would not. He was too broken to even consider breaking down or crying. When the worst case scenario happens, it usually falls on the other side of tears, because by then, nothing can ever hurt you again.

_\I'm sorry...\_ He projected mentally, though silence was his only response. _\He just needs time, yes, he just needs time to process this...\_ Hiccup tried to tell himself.

"Hiccup!" came a voice, and for a moment Hiccup's spirits lifted before he realized that he had heard the voice out loud, not mentally, and that it was a girl's voice to boot.

"We need to talk," the voice continued as Astrid jogged into view. She was not breathing hard, so she had probably not been looking for him long, but she was athletic enough that she could have jogged around half the island searching for him without breaking a sweat.

"For Frigg's sake, this is really not my day," Hiccup groaned to himself.

"What was that?!" Astrid demanded.

"Nothing, this is just _really_ not a good time. Can we possibly do this later?" Hiccup muttered. '_One major confrontation is enough for a single hour, isn't it?'_

Astrid squinted, shielding her eyes as though the sun was blinding her even though it was now long after midday and the sun was reddening too much for such a reaction.

"Ahh, there you are, I was having trouble seeing you for a moment there. And no, we are _not_ doing this later. I've had it up to _here _with you avoiding me all the time!" Astrid thrust her hands on her hips aggressively as though daring Hiccup to dart past her. To be fair, he was seriously considering it, so it was probably a well-calculated move on her part.

"I'm not avoiding you, I've just been busy," Hiccup mumbled, feeling supremely unprepared to be dealing with this right now. He needed time to brood about Toothless before other problems could present themselves.

Astrid snorted. "Spare me, Hiccup. We're _all _busy, and somehow most of us still have time to speak to each other once in a while. Listen, I said I was sorry about wrecking your notebook, but can you please stop acting like a snotty kid about it? We're both adults here!"

"Hmm? Oh right, the notebook. Oh, and I would appreciate if you didn't denigrate my work, by the way." Admittedly, since going to Yggdrasil Hiccup had barely thought about the destroyed lexicon. After all, what was the point now that its function had been bypassed by a more efficient means of communication? Of course, thinking of Yggdrasil made him think of Toothless, which in turn made his heart clench savagely.

_'I'm so stupid, I never should have said anything, why couldn't I have just left it alone...'_

Suddenly, Astrid clapped her hands over her mouth, her sapphire eyes widening. "Stoick told you, didn't he?! _That's_ why you haven't been talking to me! Did he tell you when?"

"Tell me what? What are you talking about?" Hiccup said, feeling rather wrong-footed.

"About the betrothal!"

It took a moment for the enormity of what she had said to actually sink in.

"We might get BETROTHED?" Hiccup sputtered. There was a brief beat while he figured out how to get his jaw working again so that he could remove it from the ground and close it with some dignity.

"Did I mention how this is not a good time?" he repeated lamely. _'Completely and totally not my day.' _Involuntarily, he allowed his desire to brood to be shunted to the side for the time being in order to focus on this new development.

Astrid faltered, reading the obvious bafflement still etching Hiccup's features. "I know our fathers have been talking about it as a possibility in the future, I thought maybe your dad finally said something to you and that's why you've been acting weird lately..." she offered haltingly.

While Hiccup's recent distractions derived entirely from Toothless, Astrid was not to know that. But if she had been sitting on this news for the last little while, well, it certainly explained to Hiccup why she had been even more edgy and querulous than usual lately.

"Gosh, betrothed, eh...No, my dad hasn't said anything. Betrothed? Betrothed. Betrothed to get married. Wow."

"Maybe we should sit down," Astrid said uncomfortably, peering around as though other villagers might be watching the confrontation, though no one else was nearby. Her eyes lit upon a couple of malformed rocks that had been moved halfway across the village from the quarry only to break in transit and be abandoned; they now occasionally served as a rudimentary bench of sorts. She directed Hiccup over to them and forcibly seated him, heaving herself beside him.

"That was unnecessary," Hiccup griped, rubbing his bottom.

"Yeah, well, you can be flighty," Astrid growled.

"Is that how it's going to be every single day while we're married? Because I don't think I have the physical constitution for that," Hiccup said, only partially jokingly.

"You'll toughen up by then," Astrid replied, and it was clear that this was an expectation and not simply upbeat optimism.

"I thought when the guy finally gets the girl he didn't have to impress her anymore," Hiccup attempted to joke once again in an effort to lighten the mood. If he had known more about Greek mythology, he would have described Astrid's responsive glare as Medusa-like.

"So what are you saying? You don't want to marry me unless I unconditionally approve of everything you do? It's too much effort to impress me?" she hissed back icily.

Hiccup threw up his hands defensively. "Hey now, let's back up a bit, that's not what I'm saying at all. Can you maybe not jump down my throat? We're in this together."

Astrid fumed silently; whatever reaction she was expecting from Hiccup, he was clearly not doing it right.

"Hey, I can think of worse things than marrying you," Hiccup said gently, touching Astrid's arm lightly. _'That was definitely smooth. I think.'_

Astrid flung his hand away angrily.

_'Or maybe not. It's still attached to my body though, that's always a good sign.'_

"Gods, you're being awfully composed about this!" Astrid snorted derisively. "How can you be okay with this, without getting your own say, when YOU are supposed to be the man? How can you be a Viking and still let people tell you what to do or who to marry?"

Hiccup raised an eyebrow in bemusement and saw that Astrid was still staring at him, arms crossed, expecting a response.

"Wait, that was a serious question? Uh, well, okay, my dad is the _chief,_ for one. If he wants something to happen in this village, it usually does. And he's also about four feet bigger than I am, which tends to be a factor. Oh, and I also happen to _like_ you. Most of the time, anyways. Besides, you brought this up, I thought that meant you wanted to get married!"

"I said we might get betrothed, I didn't say I wanted to!" Astrid said defensively.

"Well, that's just mean-spirited," Hiccup said nonchalantly, hoping Astrid would not detect the real hurt in his green eyes. "I mean, think about it, Astrid. This is a small island, and we both know we have to get married someday, carry on Berk's honour and all. If I had to marry someone, I think I'd like it to be you out of everyone."

Hiccup glanced at Astrid again, gauging her response. Far from calming her down, however, his words seemed to have prodded whatever thoughts were simmering in her head into boiling over.

"Yeah, and I bet you would say the same thing if Stoick told you to marry Ruffnut instead! I thought you had more backbone than this, Hiccup," Astrid said fervently, shaking her head.

Hiccup was starting to get angry, now. No matter what he said, it seemed as though Astrid was determined to twist it into something negative, and all he was doing was trying to make a thorny situation less awkward.

"Listen, first you're mad because-because what, you think you're being _forced_ to marry me? And then you get mad because even though you think you're getting forced to marry me - and by the way, nothing is set in stone yet because my dad hasn't even said anything to me - because by being agreeable, that somehow means I'd be just as happy marrying Ruffnut? Like I haven't chosen you myself, even though you don't seem to want me in the first place? Seriously, Astrid, what do you want from me?!" Hiccup raised his voice.

"I want you to show some spark, damn it!" cried Astrid, who looked rather surprised at the words bursting out of her. "Show me the Viking who brought down the Red Death against all the odds, not this boy who passively does what his father tells him now that he thinks he's finally accepted!"

"You don't know what you're talking about," said Hiccup stonily. "Why do you have to fight all the time, anyways? Marriage is not the end of the world, and between the two of us we've certainly faced down worse than that!"

"Because we're Vikings! That's what we do! We fight, we pillage, we steal, we don't meekly accept things!" Astrid cried passionately. "If you want something, you're supposed to _take_ it!"

"Have you ever considered that what it means to be a Viking might have to change, now? We used to kill dragons, and we don't do that anymore," Hiccup pointed out.

Far from putting things in perspective for Astrid, she seemed to grow angrier. "Yeah, well, I know you'd rather talk with your dragon instead of me! Don't think I haven't noticed, that every time I come around you're out with him. There are _people_ on this island too, you know. Think about them for a change!"

Astrid's words cut Hiccup far deeper than she knew. The argument over the betrothal had proved to be a highly effective distraction from the momentously world-shattering altercation Hiccup and Toothless had just experienced, but her words brought the fight crashing back like a tidal wave. With the quarrel now back to his attention, the misery he felt at its recollection seemed to have doubled.

"I wouldn't worry about that, there's a pretty good chance he's never going to speak to me again," Hiccup said stiffly.

"What-?" Astrid started to ask, clearly perplexed at Hiccup's reaction and word choice.

Hiccup made a half-hearted attempt to connect to Toothless' mind, but he knew very well that the dragon was far out of range by now, and that even if he were not, he would probably be rebuffed anyways.

Beside him, Astrid started. "Hiccup?" she queried with the closest thing to a quaver that Hiccup had ever heard in her voice before.

"What?" he muttered grumblingly.

Astrid rubbed at her eyes. "You keep flickering..." she said uncertainly.

"What on Midgard are you talking about-" Hiccup started to sputter before Astrid tentatively raised a hand to touch him. Her hand went straight through him.

"Hiccup?! Where did you go?! This isn't funny!" Astrid jumped up and began peering around for him with genuine bewilderment.

_'What is happening to me...'_ Hiccup started to panic as he tried to move after her and put his hand on her shoulder, only for it to pass straight through - his hand was completely insubstantial, and even as he examined it, he realized it was growing slowly transparent before his eyes.

_'This is a bad day. This is not a good day for me,'_ he continued to freak out as Astrid ran off, still calling his name in agitation. _'Even Ruffnut had trouble seeing me earlier...what is going on?!'_

He thought about going to find his father, but Stoick was a practical man with no mind for the supernatural, and so Hiccup figured that having his son shimmering in and out of the visible spectrum constituted a situation a bit beyond him. Instead, he decided to seek out Gudrunir, the village Elder. If anyone on the island could deal with abnormal oddities, it would probably be her.

He raced through the village to Gudrunir's hut, calling to villagers experimentally as he encountered them, but no one seemed to be able to focus on him clearly. There were times where he should have stumbled because his prosthetic was about to catch on something, but each time it passed _through_ the obstacle. Even his own hands in front of him fluctuated in colour, sometimes seeming more opaque, sometimes weirdly translucent.

Hiccup finally arrived at Gudrunir's home, breathing hard. _'How does Astrid do it?!'_ he wheezed to himself. He attempted to knock on the heavy wooden door, but predictably his hand kept going right through it. _'Seriously?! Nope, this is _really_ not my day.'_

He regarded the door for a moment and gritted his teeth, trying to will himself into staying solid enough to knock. After several tense moments of concentration, he was able to force himself to stay substantial enough to make an audible thump against the oak surface. From inside the hut, he could hear some quiet shuffling, and finally Gudrunir appeared. She was leaning heavily on her staff, though her eyes were lively enough to compensate for her wizened frame. She scratched her chin as she took in Hiccup standing before her, quietly pulsing in and out of visibility.

After a moment, Gudrunir shook her head in a puzzled manner, wispy grey hair fluttering around her face. "Stupid boy, how did you get yourself god-touched?" she croaked.

Hiccup jumped, startled to hear her actually speak. When he was younger, to explain the paucity of her words he had been convinced that she had somehow sold her speech to the gods in exchange for her wisdom. He realized only belatedly that she was still capable of vocalizations but that she chose to hold her peace when dispensing advice, preferring for the most part to use her rune-stones to communicate.

But then again, if she knew enough to diagnose his current ailment as being related to his foray to the realm of the gods, maybe his was original theory was not so far off.

Gudrunir ushered Hiccup inside. He ducked instinctively to avoid the bunches of herbs and feathers that were strung up on the low rafters, but he need not have bothered - he walked right through most of them. Nonetheless, it still made him nervous to have them at eye-level. Inside the hut, it was dim and extremely cluttered, but it was an organized mess; Hiccup had the sense that despite the chaos, Gudrunir knew exactly where everything was located and how to find whatever she might be looking for.

Hiccup turned in alarm as something cracked loudly against his skull and something wet began to run down his back and in his eyes. He began to sputter, realizing that Gudrunir had cracked an egg over his head.

"Well, that's disgusting," he said wryly, wiping yolk out of his eyes.

"Leave it!" Gudrunir said sharply, rapping Hiccup's knuckles with her staff. "It stops the flickering, and seeing you pulse is hard on my old eyes."

Hiccup stared.

Gudrunir sighed. "The whole of the life contained inside the egg stops yours from slipping away, it anchors you," she gave as explanation.

Hiccup nodded as though he understood. "It's weird hearing you talk so much," he admitted.

"Not everyone who comes to see me is god-touched."

The words stirred in Hiccup's mind. "What do you know about it?" he queried.

"I was once young, as well," Gudrunir's eyes glittered. "Now, if I am to help you at all, you must tell me what happened. From the beginning, and all of it."

Hiccup surveyed the little old woman for a moment, but if anyone stood a chance of believing what had happened to him over the course of the last few months, it would be Gudrunir. And so he told her everything, his voice going raw by the time he was finished.

Gudrunir made no comments; instead, she rose and bustled around the cabin, finally emerging from behind a pile taller than she was with a basin decorated with runes; it looked as though it might have been made out of bone. It reminded Hiccup strongly of the vase with which the Norns had anointed him and Toothless with the water from Mimir's Well.

Hiccup watched as Gudrunir patiently filled the basin with water until it was so full that the slightest breath would cause it to spill over the rim. He leaned in to get a closer look until Gudrunir smacked him hard across the chest with her staff. Of course, that time it did not pass through, thanks to Gudrunir's trick with the egg.

"Don't disturb the surface," she hissed as Hiccup rubbed his abdomen resentfully, still dripping with yolk.

Together, they waited in silence as the water settled, the slight ripples that had been marring the surface eventually smoothing into glass as still as death.

"Don't touch the water, just look," Gudrunir admonished, shambling out of the way.

"Can't you look too?"

Gudrunir shook her head. "Just for your eyes."

"What will I see?" Hiccup asked.

Gudrunir shrugged as she backed away. "Maybe your fate. Maybe your death. It is a hard thing, to be god-touched."

"Why does everything have to be so cryptic all the time..." Hiccup grumbled. He stared deep into the basin, trying to focus on not breathing too hard so that it did not ruffle the mirror-like surface. Eventually, he made out shapes shifting in the water, and he squinted - the shapes were shifting as though they were far deeper underwater than the shallow bottom of the basin could possibly allow.

Suddenly, a huge eye appeared, startling Hiccup and causing him to jump back with a clatter. The eye shrank until Hiccup saw that it was milky and set into a face as wrinkled and whorled as tree bark.

"Oh, look, it's the little knowledge-stealing snit," the scratchy voice emerged from the depths of the basin, creating ripples with its force. "Come to whine that the price of being god-touched is too high? Well, too bad! What's done is done!" Urd cackled.

There was a flurry of motion as Urd's cobwebby clothing whirled and then the otherworldly beauty and copper curls of Verdandi filled the basin instead.

"Hello, Hiccup," she intoned. "Don't mind Urd, she has a nasty habit of taking bets on the failings of mortals. If it weren't for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues..." Verdandi pursed her lips, rearranging her vibrantly coloured shawls as though that was a satisfactory conclusion to her sentence.

Hiccup knelt by the basin, still being careful not to disturb the water's surface from his end.

"I'm not trying to rescind my price," he assured the youthful Norn. "I just want to know what's happening to me, why nobody can see me, why I keep passing through things..I don't even know how my village elder managed to contact you, actually."

Verdandi made a slight smile. "She's very wise, your elder. Give her my compliments on her wisdom in using the egg."

"Scabby bitch!" Urd shrieked in the background, and Hiccup was not sure if she was talking about Verdandi or Gudrunir.

Verdandi ignored her, though Hiccup could see even through the water's surface that her jaw had set in irritation. Urd shoved Verdandi to one side with a cobwebby elbow, sending the blue and crimson scarves aflutter.

"He's already agreed to pay the price, I don't see why he needs to know any more than that. Let him discover the scope of it on his own," Urd said testily.

"I don't see the harm in clarifying the cost," Verdandi snarled back, fiddling with an emerald shawl as though seriously contemplating garotting Urd with it.

"Skuld!" they both turned to third Norn to act as their tie-breaker, making space for her to appear within the confines of the basin. As before, she was completely swathed in a heavily patterned gauze veil that seemed to deflect mortal eyes from resting on it.

"I do have better things to do than moderate your squabbles, you know," Skuld said, and Hiccup could not tell if it was amusement or disdain that was tingeing her voice. Although he could not see her eyes, he was fairly sure she was surveying him from under her grey veil. Her fingers were steepled, long and white as bone, though with a faintly pearlescent sheen.

"I thought it may have been obvious, but perhaps mortal minds are duller than I remember," Skuld stated. If Urd had said it, it would have stung insultingly, but in Skuld's words it merely rang as fact. "The more you use the mental connection, the more it drains your body. That is the price."

Urd squawked in indignation that Skuld so readily revealed the prize while Verdandi smirked behind her hand. For his part, Hiccup swallowed in shock.

"So...I'm going to die?" he asked, trying to keep his voice impassive. He somehow doubted going to pieces in front of the legendary Norns would impress them very much.

Urd rolled her eyes. "The price is not your life, you dimwit, it is your body!" she exclaimed, creating more ripples in the water's surface; Hiccup thought he saw flecks of her spit emerge from the basin with the force of her exclamation.

Verdandi sighed and jostled Urd out of the way again. "Yes, your body, not your life. Your life-force can exist independently from your body, for a time. But when two minds are seeking to meld, as you and the Night Fury are, there is no need for them to exist in two separate earthly shells. The gift of Yggdrasil was given with the expectation that one shell will be dismissed so the two minds can eventually come together in a single body and harmonize...".

Hiccup's eyes widened as the full meaning of Verdandi's words hit him. His body was slowly dissolving in preparation for him to camp out in Toothless' head?! This was definitely not what he was expecting when he had said he wanted to know the dragon's mind...And yet, he should have seen this coming, after the glimpses into Toothless' dreams and the shared physical sensations they had experienced. He realized he should have been questioning how forces could simply cause his body to fade, but the supernatural had become too ingrained in his life for such trivialities.

"Where is Nightshade, anyhow?" Verdandi peered around the edges of the basin, its frame constricting her search.

_'Dragon dung on a stick! The last thing__ he is going to want now is to "meld minds" and "share bodies"...' _Hiccup thought in a panic. Even he was not completely sold on the idea of losing his sense of self and being relegated to a dragon body. "Er, how long can the life-force exist without the body, anyhow?" he queried out loud.

Verdandi furrowed her perfect copper brows. "Anywhere from a matter of days to weeks, depending on how much you have faded by using the connection. Why? There is no problem, is there?"

"I think I have to go," Hiccup muttered distractedly as a response. He got to his feet and thrust his hand into the basin, disturbing the glassy surface and dissolving the puzzled faces of the Norns into shimmering waves that slopped over the edge of the basin and soaked the floor. He could hear Urd's shrieks about his impudence fading into the background even as he thanked Gudrunir breathlessly for her help and ran out the door.

_'If we can't come together, I guess that means I'll just fade away,' _Hiccup pondered as he ran flat out towards the forge. _'But if that happens, there's no way that Toothless will ever be able to fly again. And it will be my fault, _again. _I can't let that happen...'_

He paused outside a hen-house belonging to Borghildr the Beauteous, and sneakily as a fox, scooped a handful of eggs into the front of his tunic which he held out before him like a basket. Hiccup continued in the direction of the forge, but going more slowly and carefully now so as not to break the precious eggs. He was going to need them if he hoped to stay solid long enough to stay up all night in the forge.

Hiccup had made some designs for a self-flying tail fin for Toothless' use, to try out to see if it hampered him less than always requiring a human rider to work the controls. Of course, he would still be able to carry a human rider if he chose, but it would really be a choice - he would no longer need someone else to work the fin. Hiccup had been working on the fin in his free time and had been planning to finish it in time for Snoggletog, Berk's traditional holiday that they incorporated into the Yule festival. But if Hiccup faded completely before he could finish it, Toothless would be stuck, flightless in every way.

And so Hiccup worked late into the night, growing almost feverish in his desire to finish the fin before his body faded completely. Every time he felt himself growing insubstantial he would crack an egg on himself, the yolk giving his auburn hair a glistening sheen in addition to a firmer corporeal form.

He did not care if Toothless chose never to fly with him again, as long as he managed to give him the chance to fly at all.

He was almost finished when he started to feel himself fade again, this time not physically but in exhaustion. _'Now, if I could only find him to attach it...'_ were Hiccup's last thoughts as he finally passed out.

* * *

The Plagueling contentedly gnawed on the tiny bones clasped in his fore-claws, though he had already stripped the meatiest sections from them. He had grown at an alarming rate in the past few weeks, and so the small pack of Terrible Terrors that had wandered stupidly into the vicinity of Fire Nest Island made for no more than miniature mouthfuls, succulent though they had been.

_"Sorry, Mother, I should have offered you some first."_ The Plagueling nudged the small green corpse of a mangled Terror towards Plague Breath's skull. Beside him, the huge skull yawned unresponsively, a colossal white shrine to fangs and death.

The Plagueling had been violently ill after eating the decayed flesh of his mother. He had spent two whole days curled in the fetal position, persuaded that he might die after all, cursing his mother's corpse for tricking him. But then he had recovered, feeling immeasurably strong and rather invincible. He fantasized about sweeping down upon villages and devouring them whole, about razing the branches of Yggdrasil with the toxic breath that was his heritage, about duelling with the Aesir and crushing their bones. He was just trying to decide whether he should rename himself Blight Tooth or Scourge Wing when his mother's skull had spoken to him.

_"Clean me. Strip off this rotten mess. Be my good dracling, and do this for me."_

Always the dutiful son, the Plagueling obediently set to stripping the decomposing flesh from his mother's skeleton, taking the occasional quick bite here and there, lovingly, to strengthen himself. Eventually his efforts had revealed gleaming white bone, and with a colossal effort, he moved the skull into the confines of the broken volcano, turning it into a makeshift temple to his dead dam.

_"What now, Mother?"_

_ "Worship my memory, grow fat on my legacy,"_ Plague Breath's skull had murmured.

Often when the Plagueling spoke to his mother, the skull chose to remain silent. But here and there she spoke to him, offered advice, served as a companion in his loneliness. He promised to avenge her when he grew strong enough, and in return she whispered secrets to him. Or so he was convinced; solitude and sickness can do strange things to the mind.

With the strength he had gained from devouring her flesh, he took to the skies and learned to hunt.

At first his forays were only in the vicinity of Fire Nest Island and its nearby islets. But soon he grew confident, drunk in the knowledge that his killer's body was an efficient machine for delivering death. He delighted in the taste of fresh meat, he who had before only ever tasted the petrified flesh of stillborn eggs or the rotten meat of creatures long dead.

Fresh meat simply did not compare - it was far sweeter, it held memories of life that subtly enhanced the flavour, it delighted his iron stomach instead of causing it to revolt. The first time he pierced an artery and experienced a hot burst of crimson blood flooding his mouth, he had nearly rolled around on the ground like a puppy in ecstasy at the delectable hydration.

But it was not just the fresh food that invigorated him. The Plagueling quickly came to see that the act of killing was just as addictive as the act of consumption itself. He thrilled in the power that allowed him to deal destruction as easily as breathe. He treasured the look of fear in a creature's eyes as he cracked its spine or bled it dry, knowing that he had a power over their spirits as well as their bodies. He felt godlike, knowing that by dealing other dragons unnatural death and consuming them before the Gateswimmer could collect them and bring them to Yggdrasil he was disrupting their afterlives.

_'The Aesir think they are so mighty, dealing life and taking it away. But even they would shudder to see me. Mother could have driven them into the ground if she had not grown so lazy and turned into a parasite. But I am young, in my prime. The Nine Worlds could be mine, if I so chose,' _the Plagueling thought to himself. He glanced at his mother's skull furtively.

_"Sorry, Mother,"_ he said out loud, hoping she had not heard his rebellious thoughts.

Plague Breath's skull said nothing.

The Plagueling crunched down on the small bones, careful not to swallow the sharp shards. The sweet taste of bone marrow exploded in his mouth, a texture like sand coating his forked tongue. He chewed methodically, pondering how besides the pack of Terrible Terrors, pickings around Fire Nest Island had been slim lately.

The Plagueling sighed; he was going to have to extend his range and start hunting further abroad. That was just fine though; he had not even tried twolegs yet.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hope you guys enjoy this nice long chapter before I slow down again for school.

A quick note on _draugr, _the word Gobber calls Hiccup: it's a kind of Viking zombie/undead creature. There are different versions and stories about them; basically they were believed to live in the graves of the dead and were the animated bodies of people who had died. They sometimes guarded the treasures contained in wealthier tombs. They were believed to have superhuman strength, could increase their size at will, and smelled like decay. They are often described as being both extremely heavy and very sluggish, thus Gobber's joke.


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